


in every version of reality

by project_ecto



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dimension Travel, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Time Travel, Travelling through Universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-08 07:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 41,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15238491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/project_ecto/pseuds/project_ecto
Summary: In a stroke of misfortune, Oikawa gets struck by lightning. But instead of having Lichtenberg figures bloom across his skin, he finds himself with the ability to travel through space and time. And with every version of reality he travels to, one thing always remains the same: he’s in love with Iwaizumi Hajime.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You know that feeling when you have a thousand AU ideas of your OTP but they’re just little scenes in your head, nothing concrete enough to make a fic out of? Yeap, this is the result of that. Disclaimer that I don’t even know how getting struck by lightning works in real life but everything in this fic is made up so…enjoy!

Oikawa and Iwaizumi are not perpetually glued at the hips, contrary to popular belief. Like right now for instance. Oikawa bounces on the balls of his feet impatiently as he waits for the red man to turn green, shivering in the heavy rain with no umbrella to shelter him. It’s ironic really, because even when he doesn’t want to prove them right, he always seem to wish that Iwa-chan’s with him when he’s not.

And now would be a good time to have Iwaizumi around. He’d definitely not pull a Trashykawa and forget to bring an umbrella to school even though he was already reminded to do so since the weather forecast predicted that there’ll be a thunderstorm today. He’d have an umbrella on hand and he’d pull Oikawa under its shelter, right next to him so that their shoulders were touching, despite grumbling about the setter’s selective forgetfulness. Oikawa can almost hear Iwaizumi’s admonishing tone.

But alas, he had cleanly forgotten to bring an umbrella today and Iwaizumi happened to still be in school for cleaning duty. Oikawa would normally wait for him to finish and they’d head home together but his mother had asked him to run some errands for her today, leaving him no choice but to make a move before Iwaizumi. How convenient.

Scowling, Oikawa tugs his school jacket in and wraps his arms around himself though it does nothing to keep him from getting drenched. Great, now his perfectly curled hair is ruined. Seems to him like someone up there was picking on him.

The red man finally turns green and Oikawa rushes out onto the intersection without checking twice. Puddles of water soak through his shoes and socks as he jogs across. Some idiot decides to switch his headlights to high beam, momentarily blinding his peripheral vision. How unnecessary, Oikawa thinks for a fleeting second, as he soldiers on. Shelter is just on the other side of the intersection.

What happens next could not possibly be his fault.

After all, there was no calculable way he could have predicted that his next step was where a single strike of lightning meets the asphalt.

His vision goes white for a second, and then everything is pitch black. Oikawa doesn’t see car doors opening to reveal the shock on people’s faces, nor does he hear the shouts and footsteps of those kind enough to check if he’s okay. He doesn’t register the pain as he falls to the ground, shoulder hitting the roughness before his temple does. But in the limbo before he completely loses consciousness, Oikawa feels like there are fireworks erupting underneath his skin.

* * *

When he comes to, the brightness of whatever room he’s lying in stings his eyes. Oikawa squeezes his eyes shut, and like the little burst of colours speckling the back of his eyelids, memories of the incident just hours before hit him like an oncoming train. His body jerks forward and his eyes shoot open, blinking fast to refocus his vision. Oikawa’s heart races in his chest, the quickening beeps from the electrocardiograph a reflection of his creeping panic. But before he experiences a full-blown panic attack, a dark-haired figure comes into view, saying something Oikawa cannot hear and holding his arm in a reassuring grip.

“Oikawa. Hey, you’re okay,” he eventually hears the person say gently and that voice alone is enough to ease him back into the sheets.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa rasps, not liking the way he sounds right now. His vision finally clears and he meets Iwaizumi’s dark green eyes, comforting and worried at the same time. “Iwa-chan…”

He wants to be more articulate than this but it seems like this is all he can manage. Fortunately, Iwaizumi has the uncanny ability to read between the lines. Giving Oikawa’s arm an encouraging squeeze, he asks, “Can you sit up?”

Nodding, Oikawa shifts on the hospital bed to lean against the pillows that Iwaizumi settles behind his back. He takes the glass of water from him gratefully and sips carefully, as if any sudden movements could have catastrophic consequences. Getting struck by lightning puts one on edge after all.

“You’ll be fine,” Iwaizumi says, taking his seat beside the bed. “They ran some tests on you but found nothing serious. In fact, you didn’t even get a lightning scar.”

“A Lichtenberg figure?” Oikawa offers, voice returning to normal.

“Yeah, that,” Iwaizumi doesn’t ask how he knows; Oikawa seems to have lots of random knowledge stored inside his brain. “They were saying it’s weird, miraculous even, not to have one of those after getting struck by lightning. Speaking of which, how did that even happen?”

Oikawa can hear the confusion in his words. Well, that makes the two of them.

“I don’t know,” he says hesitantly, fiddling with his fingers. “One moment I was crossing the intersection and the next I feel this… _surge_. It’s hard to explain.”

Oikawa senses this is the part where Iwaizumi scolds him for forgetting to bring an umbrella. Instead, he only sighs; not an exasperated one that Oikawa’s well-acquainted with, but the kind that’s filled with relief, like a heavy weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Oikawa suddenly feels guilty. Knowing Iwa-chan, he must have been worried sick.

“How do you feel now?”

“Fine…I guess,” Oikawa answers after a pause. He looks down at his hands and wiggles his fingers. There’s a tingling sensation coursing through his fingertips. “Just a little numb.”

“That’s normal,” Iwaizumi tells him. “The doctor said you’d be experiencing some numbness for a few days. They’re also keeping you warded for a while, just in case. Like they said, it’s really weird that you’re showing no signs of getting struck by lightning.”

Oikawa pouts. They should discharge him if there’s nothing wrong. He’ll get bored out of his mind if he stays here any longer than necessary. Besides, what about volleyball practice?

“Don’t make that face,” Iwaizumi chides gently, catching Oikawa’s attention. “It’s for your own good. Just let them make sure you’re okay.”

 _Just let me know you’re okay,_ he doesn’t say.

“And don’t worry about practice. I’ll take care of the team.”

“Thanks Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says appreciatively. Iwaizumi grunts in response and settles back into his seat, pulling out his phone to type something. “What are you doing?”

“Texting your mother,” he replies, fingers tapping away. “Your parents were here when you were still unconscious and I told them I’d let them know when you came to.”

“Oh. Are you leaving soon?” he asks, trying to keep his disappointment at bay.

“Not yet, think I’ll leave with your parents,” he says, like he’s already part of the family. “I’ll come visit you tomorrow too. Want me to bring anything?”

“Aren’t you still on cleaning duty?” Oikawa points out, though hearing that makes him hopeful.

“I switched with Kakeru for the week.”

“Oh,” Oikawa mutters and wonders if it means Iwaizumi will visit him every day. The thought of it stirs his heart with mirth. “Then…milk bread?”

“Right, of course,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

“Are you going to visit me the day after?” he chances.

“Obviously, stupid,” Iwaizumi says gruffly. “If I don’t make sure you don’t hurt yourself in some dumb way, who will?”

“So mean Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines. “I’m in a hospital, what could I possibly do?”

“I don’t know, you seem to be full of surprises recently,” he retorts, then softens his expression into something empathetic. “You were lucky this time. Don’t scare me again like that Shittykawa.”

Iwaizumi says that with such relief, like knowing Oikawa is safe and sound is all it takes to wash all sense of disquietude out of his system. It is both heart-warming and heart-breaking, because Iwaizumi treats this like a natural display of concern for a friend but Oikawa wants it to be more than that. He’s wanted it to be more than that for as long as he stopped playing silly games with himself and finally admitted that he’s fallen in love with his best friend, even though said best friend was mean (sometimes), brusque (most of the times) and male (entirely so).

He wonders if confessing to Iwaizumi right now would be considered as a surprise, and then scoffs internally. Who is he kidding? Of course it will. And calling it a surprise would be hardly what it is. A sure-fire way to ruin their friendship would be more accurate. Which is why to this day, Oikawa has never tried.

Being in love with your best friend is more tiring than he thought. He might as well have been warded for Hanahaki disease.

* * *

That night is the first time it happens.

Oikawa is sleeping when he begins to feel like he’s floating, even though he can feel the lumpy mattress beneath him. It’s a sensation that gradually fades to the back of his mind, overtaken by encroaching darkness, which is the most peculiar thing because he’s asleep isn’t he? Yet, it becomes darker than black and emptier than nothingness but it isn’t suffocating or crippling. In fact, it’s quite liberating to feel as if you’re bound by nothing, to reach out and realize that the space stretches on and on.

Oikawa finds out then, that he can move. Or rather, he is simply moving with an unknown force. He doesn’t seem to be able to control the direction he’s moving (although the concept of direction remains elusive in this space). He lets himself be carried by the motion until there are white specks approaching him and from this distance, they look like stars. Oikawa wonders if he’s dreaming about being an astronaut in outer space. But the cosmos don’t work this way and somehow, he feels naked.

It dawns on him that the white flecks are not stars. The imminent spots grow larger, stretched across the darkness and whizz past him with incredible speed. Oikawa follows their movement, head whipping sideways to get a glimpse of these white lights, now elongated to resemble white screens that scatter into the darkness, appearing all around him and further than he can see.

He concentrates hard to catch sight of one, but he hears them before he sees them. There are whispers in the dark, murmurs and the occasional exclamation that are too incoherent to make sense of. It doesn’t take him long to discover that the sounds are indeed voices, and they come from the white screens, not one of them but all of them.

The moment he establishes that fact, everything feels a little clearer somehow. The lights are still flying past him, but they begin to reveal pictures, scenes of places and people who look like…him.

And there’s his mother…his sister…Takeru…and oh, Iwa-chan.

Sometimes he recognizes the places, sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he spots someone he knows, sometimes he sees strangers. The voices are getting louder, but the words tumble over one another, like feet tripping over themselves. These white lights are like opened doorways to different places that look familiar but for some reason do not appear in his memories.

Among the noise, there is one voice that rises above the rest. He doesn’t recognize it and he still can’t make out what it is saying. All he knows is that it’s getting nearer. Soon enough, he pins it to a particular whiteness but the pictures have gone hazy. The light hangs in the blackness and Oikawa cannot stop the distance between them from disappearing, torn between being both fearful and thrilled over what lies ahead.

It is then Oikawa realizes that these white lights have not been moving at all. This whole time, he’s the one who’s been moving through the void. And the one that he was being drawn towards is soon approaching. Oikawa finds himself pulled into the light until that’s all that fills his vision.

* * *

White becomes grey in an instant and Oikawa takes a second to figure that he’s facing the metallic inside of a gym locker. His sports bag lies at the bottom of it and there’s a towel hanging over the bar. It appears as if he’s in one of the locker rooms of a gym, seemingly preparing for a game his team is about to win.

His eyebrows furrow in bewilderment; if he’s awake now, it means he just experienced the most out-of-body dream he’s ever had. And did it somehow screw with his perception of time? Because he seems to recall that he was lying in a hospital bed for having the misfortune of getting struck by lightning not too long ago.

Oikawa blinks once, twice, and when nothing changes and everything is still as concrete as it seems, he concludes that this is reality. Just not the reality he was expecting.

Closing the locker door, Oikawa turns to his right, all ready to share with Iwa-chan what an odd dream he had. But instead of seeing his (almost) always-frowning best friend, he comes face-to-face with Ushijima Wakatoshi.

“Ugh Ushiwaka-chan, what are you doing here?” Oikawa spits out immediately, nosing wrinkling in distaste at the sight of his nemesis in Seijoh’s locker room.

“Changing,” Ushijima answers factually, though the silent stare he fixes Oikawa with is a testament of how strange it is that he would ask such a question.

Oikawa’s about to retort but someone behind him cuts him off before he can say a word.

“Aww Vice-Cap, you’re still gonna bully Wakatoshi-kun before a game?”

Oikawa makes a face at that, whirling around to confront the owner of that cheeky-sounding voice. Last he checked, he was decidedly _not_ a vice-captain. He was _captain_ of—

—Shiratorizawa?!

There’s purple and white everywhere he looks. He isn’t met with the familiar faces of his volleyball team, but is confronted with members of Shiratorizawa, people he has watched countless videos of so that he can one day beat them to the ground. They’re staring back at him with odd expressions on their faces, some looking rather concerned. Oikawa reckons he must be making an indescribable face, because this whole situation is inexplicable.

No wait, there could be an explanation for this. He must obviously be in the wrong locker room. After all, there was absolutely no way he could be in the same room with people wearing the _purple and white_ uniform which, when he looks down at himself, is also wearing.

Oikawa makes a strangled sound, the noise lodged at the back of his throat because he’s too flabbergasted to even release anything. He clutches at the uniform, stretching it to see with escalating horror the number “2” printed on the fabric. He wants to tear this off himself, appalled that he would even allow himself to put it on in the first place. How could he let himself to be adorned with Shiratorizawa’s colours? He belongs with Seijoh and Seijoh alone. This feels so wrong—

“Please don’t freak out before a game Oikawa,” the one he remembers as Eita Semi says nonchalantly, like this was common occurrence and worse still, like he _knew_ Oikawa.

Easier said than done, considering he’s in the wrong room and donning the wrong fucking uniform. Words escape him at this point so Oikawa only manages to maintain his wide eyes and half-opened mouth.

“We know it’s Seijoh, but try to control yourself yeah?” their second year middle blocker, Kawanishi Taichi, tells him.

That alone puts even more questions in Oikawa’s mind. So Seijoh is here as well? Then why does everyone seem to think he belongs in Shiratorizawa’s locker room then? Why is everyone acting like this is normal?! And what did he meant by “control yourself”?!

Oikawa’s about to burst a vein trying to find an explanation for this. He opens his mouth, ready to demand what the hell is going on with a panicked shout but is interrupted once again.

“This could very well be our last game with Seijoh,” Satori Tendou, also the one who called him the vice-captain, remarks with a shrug. “So why not we enjoy ourselves?”

Wha—

“Is everyone ready? Let’s head to the court,” another foreign voice calls from the door. It’s one of their coaches, Akira Saitou. Dutifully, everyone prepares to file out of the room, dismissing Oikawa’s little episode as if it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Oikawa is the last to leave the room as he stares blankly at the backs of his supposed teammates.

Nothing explains itself even when he enters the gym. He follows the team mindlessly, who takes their seats at one side of the court. The sea of students in Shiratorizawa’s school uniform cheers loudly behind him and their banner hangs proudly against the stands. Across the court, Oikawa sees the familiar mix of turquoise and white and the motto that he has lived by for the last three years, コートを制す, looks back at him like a challenge. It doesn’t feel right to be standing on this side of the court.

It’s more baffling when he sees Ushiwaka walk to the middle of the sideline to shake hands with Seijoh’s captain, who turns out to be none other than Iwa-chan, the unmistakable number “1” reflected on his shirt. The only reason why Oikawa doesn’t immediately run up bawling to Iwaizumi is because he’s too stunned to move. He watches in astonished silence the two of them exchanging a few words before returning to their teams.

Oikawa straightens his back, looking at Iwaizumi expectantly. He feels so out of place in this state of affairs and hopes that maybe Iwaizumi can tell him what exactly is going on. To his fleeting relief, he manages to catch Iwaizumi’s attention. Their eyes meet for a brief moment and the look in Iwaizumi’s eyes is intense and something Oikawa cannot quite put his finger on. He wants to reach out, heart arresting in his chest, but Iwaizumi looks away, jogging back to his teammates.

Oikawa lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

He finds himself taking his position right across from Iwaizumi on the court with the net separating them. Oikawa can’t help but keep his eyes on Iwaizumi, not knowing what to expect anymore. To his surprise, the spiker actually strikes a conversation with him, albeit a short one.

“What’s wrong Oikawa?” he says, voice with a taunting edge to it. “You look a little under the weather.”

“I—I’m fine?”

He doesn’t know why he phrased that like a question but he figures it’s better to try to keep it together than completely break down in the middle of the court, though that’s what he’d like to do. His response dilutes Iwaizumi’s challenging expression with a hint of concern.

“You sure?” he questions with a raised eyebrow. “Need you to be at your best so that defeating you feels worthwhile.”

“But—”

The whistle blows, signalling the start of the finals. Oikawa doesn’t feel like he’s very much into the game. He knows what’s going on and he moves automatically with the flow of the match but it also feels as if he’s watching from someone else’s perspective. It’s like he’s dissociating or something.

Instead of keeping his head in the game, his mind is filled with unanswered questions, the most salient ones focusing on his relationship with Iwaizumi. From his short interaction with him, it seems like they were rivals, but also friends. They were supposed to be on the same side fighting a common enemy together, but now they’re standing on different sides of the court, the line between foe and friend blurred. How does any of this work?

This is both all too real and simply unbelievable. So by the end of the game, Oikawa concludes that he must still be dreaming. For when his team wins the game against Seijoh, victory has never felt bitterer, and that is something he cannot fathom.

Time seems to pass him by in a blur and before he knows it, he’s dressed in Shiratorizawa’s windbreaker and track pants, ambling along the corridor aimlessly after telling his teammates that he was going to take a walk. He doesn’t bother asking them why they were giving him weird, unimpressed knowing looks, like it was obvious he was just giving them an excuse to do something else. What they thought him to be doing, the setter could only guess.

He’s walked to one of the emptier corridors of the entire gym, wondering when he will wake up from this terrible dream. This is hands-down the worst dream he’s ever had; he’s setting for his sworn enemy, Iwa-chan isn’t his spiker, Iwa-chan didn’t call him ‘Shittykawa’ once—

“Oi.”

Oikawa turns on his heel to face the person speaking to him and his heart skips a beat. It’s Iwa-chan.

“Sure took your time to get here,” he points out, approaching him. Oikawa tilts his head in confusion. Were they supposed to meet here? If they were, he sure hadn’t known that. He just let his legs take him wherever they went.

“Iwa-chan…” he breathes out, panic rising in him now that he knows Iwaizumi will catch him if he falls.

“Come with me,” Iwaizumi says and pulls him by the wrist into a more secluded corner. He fits Oikawa against the wall so that even their shadows were concealed. Oikawa looks down at his feet to take a breath, mildly comforted by Iwaizumi’s presence.

Finally, he looks up at him and says imploringly, “What’s going on?”

“You tell me,” he says, slightly less perplexed than Oikawa, but confused nonetheless. If Iwaizumi had to guess, he thinks Oikawa’s insecurities are coming out to play again, so he goes with that. “You played well didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” he answers because he honestly doesn’t. Somehow it didn’t feel like he was playing at all. It was more like he was just going through the motions out of muscle memory. He grabs at the ends of Iwaizumi’s jacket, feeling a bit more grounded by the familiarity of it. Oikawa swallows a lump in his throat before saying quite desperately, “Why can’t we be in the same team?”

Hold on, that wasn’t what he meant to say. He wanted to ask him why they _weren’t_ in the same team, not why they _couldn’t_ be in the same team. Strange.

Iwaizumi blinks in surprise. Oh, so this was what it’s about. Oikawa has always questioned his decision to join Shiratorizawa especially in the beginning, but when all is said and done, it wasn’t a regret, just a vulnerability to ‘what-if’ scenarios that Iwaizumi has to coax him not to entertain too much. Guess this is one of those times.

“We’ve been through this remember?” he says gently. “Doesn’t matter where we are, we’re both still here right?”

“But—” Oikawa protests.

“We both chose this,” Iwaizumi continues. “I won’t regret it, so don’t you go regretting it too.”

Oikawa purses his lips. He was wrong; Iwaizumi is not making sense too. How was he able to say that it’s okay to be on different teams when they’ve been on the same team for years? This is definitely a dream. There’s no doubt about it now.

Releasing a sharp breath, Oikawa tells Iwaizumi seriously, “Pinch me.”

“Huh?”

“Pinch me,” he insists, holding up his arm. People don’t feel physical sensations in dreams, so as long as it doesn’t hurt—“Ow!”

“You said to pinch you!” Iwaizumi says defensively, after twisting the skin on Oikawa’s forearm.

“You didn’t have to pinch so hard!” Oikawa whines, rubbing at the sore spot. That actually really hurt—oh shit.

“Are you back to reality now?” Iwaizumi asks him dryly and Oikawa can only look on with renewed horror at the realization that this is 100% real and that he’s stuck in some warped multiverse where everything sucks. The spiker steps towards him, eyes softening to a sympathetic gaze. “You know whether we are teammates or rivals doesn’t change what I feel for you.”

Wait, what?

Oikawa reels back in shock. That doesn’t sound like what friends would say to each other. It’s too intimate and too suggestive and why is Iwa-chan closing in on him?

“So stop fretting about it okay?” he mumbles, fitting his palm against Oikawa’s jawline. It burns with his touch and Oikawa starts to panic when Iwaizumi presses close. This has not happened in his life before, Iwaizumi looks like he’s about to kiss him and he is so not ready for this.

“I-Iwa-chan, wha—”

But he doesn’t wait for him to finish. Iwaizumi kisses him with insistence, lips moving against his half-opened ones and one hand cupping his jaw gently. The way he kisses is everything Oikawa has ever dreamed about and more. Iwaizumi’s lips feel softer than they look, his touch is gentle and he moves with deliberate intention and practiced ease. Oikawa’s hyperaware of this very moment that it could not possibly be a dream. His skin sears and his heart is beating a mile a minute in his ribcage. His eyes are wide opened and he can only stare in disbelief at Iwaizumi’s closed ones, as if this isn’t the first time they’re kissing. Well, clearly.

But since when were they like this? Oikawa’s mind races with a hundred more questions and oh, Iwaizumi is tracing his tongue along his bottom lip.

It’s the last straw apparently, for Oikawa makes a startled sound at the back of his throat and pushes Iwaizumi away.

“What’s wrong?” he asks innocently as Oikawa’s face reddens like a ripe tomato. When he peeks out his tongue to wet his lips, _that’s_ the final nail in the coffin.

Iwaizumi’s puzzled face is the last thing he sees before he faints.

* * *

Oikawa’s fiddling with his phone when Iwaizumi enters his hospital ward in the late afternoon. He perks up instantly, grateful that there’s company to break him out of the idle spell he’s been in the whole day and simply happy because it’s Iwaizumi.

“Iwa-chan! You’re here!”

“Yeah, I said I would,” he says, settling his bag on the floor and pulling up a seat.

“I’m so glad to see you. You have no idea how bored I was!” Oikawa whines.

“I brought you your homework so you don’t have to worry about being bored anymore,” Iwaizumi tells him with a slight smirk.

“Wow thanks Iwa-chan.”

“I also brought you milk bread,” he adds.

“Now that’s more like it,” Oikawa brightens and takes the delightful loaf of bread from Iwaizumi. He peels off a bit and pops it into his mouth, moaning happily when the soft and fluffy dough hits his taste buds. It’s a much-appreciated delicacy compared to the bland hospital food they’re feeding him.

Iwaizumi coughs and looks away, wishing Oikawa wouldn’t make unnecessary sounds like that. It’s only milk bread sheesh.

“You want some?” he offers, holding out the larger portion to him.

“It’s fine.”

Oikawa shrugs and continues to stuff the pastry into his mouth. He makes sure to swallow before asking Iwaizumi, “How’s the team?”

“We didn’t have practice today,” Iwaizumi points out. “It’s tomorrow.”

“Oh right,” Oikawa says then sighs.

“You gave them quite a scare though.”

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly. His LINE chat has been getting spammed with concerned messages by his teammates over the past day and he had sent them a gratuitous selfie to convince them that he’s perfectly fine.

“We’ll come visit you after practice tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” he says appreciatively. “I wanted to talk to the team on the group chat but I figured I might get you guys in trouble for texting during class.”

“How thoughtful,” Iwaizumi says flatly.

“Can I text you then Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks hopefully.

“Like I don’t have class?” he questions, giving Oikawa a look, which he returns with a pout. Iwaizumi always complains about Oikawa’s manipulative tactics but he lets himself fall prey to them anyway. Sometimes he’s not sure if Oikawa is manipulative or he’s just that far gone. Probably both.

With a resigned sigh, he relents, “Fine. I’ll try not to get caught.”

“Iwa-chan’s the best,” Oikawa sing-songs.

“How are you feeling today?” Iwaizumi asks, changing the topic.

“Fit as a fiddle!”

“Nothing weird?”

“I’m fine Iwa-chan,” he insists though it’s not entirely true. The incident last night is still fresh in his mind. He remembers every detail, and dreams are supposed to easily escape your memories right? His mind decides then to conjure the image of Iwaizumi kissing him, all fond and firm and realer than any dream he’s had, and Oikawa blushes pink.

Iwaizumi stays silent, though something about Oikawa’s response doesn’t sit right with him. He’s never one to keep things from him for too long and he surmises this is the case as well, so he waits for Oikawa to make the next move.

“You know…” he starts tentatively, to Iwaizumi’s prediction. “I had the weirdest dream last night.”

He can hardly convince himself that it’s a dream anymore but saying it as such would be easier to talk about.

“Yeah? What’s it about?”

Oikawa jerks his head up to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes and blurts out, lest he hesitates again, “I dreamt that I went to Shiratorizawa. Ushiwaka-chan was on my team and you were still in Seijoh. We played a game together and it was so weird because we were on different sides of the court. I mean, I was wearing the Shiratorizawa uniform and playing _for_ Shiratorizawa, can you believe it?!”

Iwaizumi admits that he’s taken aback, but more so because of Oikawa’s intense reaction to his own dream rather than the dream itself. It is pretty unbelievable, but aren’t all dreams? He’s interested in one thing though, but he lets Oikawa calm down before continuing. If Oikawa was not on his team…

“So who was setting for Seijoh?”

“It was Yahaba,” he answers quickly, then fixes Iwaizumi with an outraged expression as he points an accusing finger at him. “Why aren’t you more surprised?!”

“It’s just a dream Oikawa.”

“But me?! Setting for Shiratorizawa?! Impossible!” he exclaims, voice bordering on affliction. They’ve been on the same team since elementary school that it had never been in Oikawa’s imagination for them to play on different teams.

Yet to be frank, Iwaizumi can see it happening. Shiratorizawa is a powerhouse and would easily be in Oikawa’s top choices for schools. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had toyed with the possibility of joining Shiratorizawa. It was bitter to think about Oikawa setting for another team (their arch rival no less), but Oikawa was made for great accomplishments and Shiratorizawa could give him that, perhaps more so than Seijoh could if he were being brutally honest. So unsurprisingly, it was an alternative that made the most sense.

Iwaizumi scoffs lightly and says, “Maybe in another lifetime it isn’t.”

* * *

The second time it happens, Oikawa is not as lost. He’s more conscious of his experience floating through the screen-speckled darkness but he still cannot control where he’s headed. He does take greater notice of the moving pictures around him and supposes they’re like sneak peeks into different dimensions or something. He still wonders if this is some vivid dreamscape but he guesses he’ll find out soon enough.

This time, he finds himself temporarily blinded by a bright flash.

“Okay Oikawa-san! Now let’s go for a boy-next-door look!” a way too preppy voice fills his ears.

Before he can react, another flash goes off and he’s pretty sure the face he was making resembled nothing like a boy-next-door look but the same voice goes, “Great!”

Oikawa’s vision comes back into focus and he blinks a couple of times before he can see clearly. In the few seconds of surveying his surroundings, he concludes that he’s in some sort of studio.

“Can you bring me the other lens? No no, the other one,” the man who had been directing him before instructs a fresh-faced assistant.

Oikawa makes use of the short break to gather a bit more information. There are softbox lights shining in his general direction, backline lights and honeycomb grids leaning against the wall. Before him are people bustling around the studio; crew members bringing equipment or tools, artists touching up makeup and supervisors shouting directions. Behind him is a dark-coloured backdrop and a couple of blocks of the same colour, presumably for him to make use of when posing. Looking down at himself, he notices that he’s wearing an olive green bomber jacket thrown over a thin, white cotton shirt that reaches below his hips, matched with charcoal skinny jeans and completed with a pair of grey suede Nike trainers.

It’s all still a little disorienting, to be thrown into an unfamiliar environment abruptly, but he’s lucky that it’s obvious where he is this time. He tries to search for a familiar face but to no avail. While there are figures in the background, they’re shrouded by the shadows cast by the lighting.

“Alright, we are back in action Oikawa-san!” the photographer announces cheerily, cutting short Oikawa’s search, and holds his camera back up. “Let’s use those props now shall we? Strike a few poses for me and just be natural!”

It doesn’t seem like he’s able to get out of this so Oikawa does as he’s told. Fortunately for him, standing in a studio with cameras pointed at him is like being in his natural habitat. He models like he’s done this a hundred times and in this world, he probably has. His movements are smooth, his poses come naturally to him and his facial expressions are made for magazine spreads. Oikawa’s never modelled in his life so it’s alarming that he’s moving like a well-oiled machine. Must be muscle memory.

“And that’s a wrap!” the photographer declares after deeming the last few shots picture-perfect. Oikawa finds that he enjoyed it more than he expected and contemplates pursuing this line of work, maybe not full-time because volleyball is his number one passion but as a side-job.

“Quick and fuss-free as always,” he adds with a grin. “Pleasure working with you again Oikawa-san. I’m sure we can send you some of the softcopies before the publication, right Sumire-san?”

“Yes, of course,” a prim and proper lady on his right, probably his assistant, nods. “Thank you for the hard work.”

“Ah…thank you for the hard work,” Oikawa says and bows. Tentatively, he steps off the backdrop, looking around to find the changing room and pretending he knows where he’s going. After a photoshoot, you usually change back into your own clothes right?

He barely takes a few steps before he’s approached by another stranger, though it could be someone he knows but how is he to know?

“Oikawa-san!” the brown-haired stranger with a ponytail calls as she jogs up to him. She darts her eyes up to meet his and starts a little nervously, “Thanks for the hard work today. Just wanted to remind you that there’s a team photoshoot next week okay? It’s also in this studio.”

“Oh…” he trails off dumbly, unable to help the surprise that flits across his face even though he’s supposed to pretend to know details like this. But a team photoshoot? What team? His volleyball team?

“Oh dear,” she says, shoulders deflating visibly as if her worst expectation has come true. “Did you forget again? The national team is scheduled for a photoshoot for the J Sports feature. If not everyone can make it—”

The gears in Oikawa’s head are turning and he gathers that he’s not only a model, but also part of the national team. Was he captain?

“The team will be there,” another voice says, clear and certain.

“Iwaizumi-san!” the stranger greets before Oikawa can say anything. “Really?”

“Yes Minato-san, everyone will be there,” he affirms, ignoring Oikawa’s apparent look of relief as he walks up to them. “So don’t worry.”

“Thank god!” she breathes. “I was afraid we might have to reschedule again.”

Oikawa wonders if it was his fault they had to reschedule the first time. It probably was.

“That’s why I’m here to make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he says, shooting a sideways glare at Oikawa. The setter-slash-model responds with a sheepish smile.

“Thanks Iwaizumi-san, it’s a good thing you’re around,” she smiles appreciatively at him and laughs lightly.

“What?”

“Nothing…it’s just,” she pauses to look at the both of them in amusement and remarks, “Iwaizumi-san acts more like Oikawa-san’s manager than the team physician.”

Oh. The discovery makes him arch an eyebrow wordlessly. He stares at Iwaizumi in pleasant surprise; Iwa-chan, a team physician? He wonders what it is exactly that he does. He’s never had a team physician before, only professional teams had them. Does he monitor their conditions like a hawk? Come up with special exercises for them? That was new…though if Oikawa thought about it, isn’t far-fetched. He can definitely imagine Iwaizumi taking a major in sports science or the like and somehow, it simply suited him to be involved in a profession that serves the betterment of others. Something akin to pride wells up within him but the bubble is popped when he realizes it also means Iwaizumi is not his teammate.

That makes it two times.

“Maybe that can justify a pay raise,” he jokes and Oikawa’s pretty sure he’s trying to hide a blush. How endearing.

“Well, I guess I’ll see the both of you next week then!” the stranger, Minato, says and bids them farewell.

The moment her back is turned towards them, Iwaizumi pins him with narrowed eyes.

“Did you really forget?” he asks dryly.

“No I just…” Oikawa lies and tries to conjure an excuse but decides to just evade the topic entirely. “Anyway, where were you?”

“At the back,” Iwaizumi answers without fuss, jerking his chin to where the crew was scurrying around.

“Were you watching?” he asks cheekily, forcing himself to behave like his usual character and pretending as if experiencing this phenomenon twice isn’t as bizarre as it should be. Well, fake it till you make it right? If his first episode could be taken as an example, then he should find himself back in the hospital soon.

“Yes,” Iwaizumi says easily, like it’s perfectly normal to do so. Talk about acting like his manager…

“How did I do?”

It’s a conversation-filler sure, but Oikawa is genuinely curious to some extent. He’s never modelled before but it felt right, comfortable, and like most things, he secretly craves validation from the one person whose validation actually matters.

“Pompous as usual,” was the straightforward, no-frills reply. Really, Oikawa shouldn’t expect anything less from Iwaizumi Hajime.

“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa whines, undeterred from expressing his fake hurt. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and stalks off, fully expecting Oikawa to follow. And he does, because where else would he go in this strange world? Besides, Iwaizumi looks like he knew where he was going.

The setter trails along obediently and the light in his eyes suddenly brightens when he remembers the salient fact that is Iwaizumi’s dynamic role as a team physician-and-not-manager-but-not-really in this world. So he tries to take full advantage of that.

“So what’s my next appointment?” he asks playfully.

“Idiot, I’m not your manager,” Iwaizumi brings up again and to Oikawa’s sheer delight, adds with a hint of embarrassment, “You have physio later.”

“With you?”

At that, Iwaizumi turns to award him with a dry stare. “Do you have another team physician I don’t know about?”

The Iwaizumi of this world is really cute too, Oikawa thinks, and before he can answer, he’s interrupted by yet another stranger who comes up to them with a can of drink in her hand. She looks like another crew member, with her hair tied into a neat ponytail and a lanyard hanging around her neck.

“Oikawa-san, thank you for the hard work today,” she chirps and holds up the can. “Would you like a drink?”

“Oh, thanks,” Oikawa says out of politeness more than anything and reaches for it.

“No thanks, he has water,” comes Iwaizumi’s voice as he holds Oikawa’s wrist down. He gives the girl a small smile. “Leave this for the others.”

“A-Alright,” she stammers and scampers away.

Oikawa fixes his companion with a puzzled expression. It’s not like he wanted the drink, but there was no reason to decline.

“No sweet drinks until after the Olympics,” Iwaizumi instructs firmly and proceeds to head to the dressing room.

Oikawa’s feet are planted on the ground even though he had intended to follow Iwaizumi. His eyes grow wide as saucers and his voice goes up a few decibels.

“Olypmics?!”

Iwaizumi swivels to say with a frown, “You can’t possibly have forgotten that too. It’s next month.”

“O-Of course I didn’t forget!” Oikawa recovers hastily and continues their way to the dressing room. He doesn’t want him to notice how red he’s getting from the sudden blood rush to his head when he thinks about how, in this world where he’s somehow both a sportsman and model, he gets to participate in the world’s largest international sporting event, which was exactly what he’s been working towards. And to top it off, Iwaizumi is his team physician. He could totally live with this.

“You okay?” comes Iwaizumi’s voice with a twinge of concern.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Oikawa replies flippantly.

“I don’t know, you’re acting funny,” he points out. Damn his uncanny ability to read Oikawa like a book. Was that something that was constant in all the worlds? “Spaced out a bit during the shoot too.”

The implication of his words catches Oikawa’s attention and being the opportunistic schemer that he is, he uses it to evade the conversation on his strange behaviour.

“You were watching that closely?” he asks.

“Shut up, I wasn’t,” he denies, avoiding his playful gaze but refusing to drop the topic. “If there’s anything wrong, you’d better tell me.”

They enter the dressing room and Iwaizumi heads straight to his bag to fish out a set of clothes, neatly folded and stacked. He hands them to Oikawa with questioning eyes. Must be the clothes he wore to the studio then.

“I’m fine,” he claims, taking his clothes from Iwaizumi, the tips of their fingers grazing.

“Is your knee acting up again?” he interrogates, apparently doubting his words. Oikawa can tell he’s getting worried; that tone of voice is familiar, like he really cares about him but god forbids he shows it too clearly. “If it is—”

“It’s not! Relax Iwa-chan!” he has to insist, leaning into him to make his point.

Iwaizumi takes a step back. Their faces are close, too close, and he’s learnt that it does funny things to him because sure Oikawa is attractive, but it’s always been more than that. It makes him impulsive too, makes him want to say what the both of them are thinking because let’s face it, two people wouldn’t flirt the way they do or care for each other in their own unique way if they weren’t mutually attracted.

“Right,” he says lamely, abandoning his reckless thoughts.

Oikawa smiles, a warm feeling blooming in his chest. Iwaizumi cares, and he always has to show it in that aggressive way of his but for some reason, Oikawa wouldn’t have it any other way. His surroundings may have changed, his lifestyle may be different but Iwaizumi is still the same. The very essence of him is still familiar, warm and feels like home. And Oikawa falls in love with this all over again.

“You say you’re not my manager,” Oikawa starts as he’s ushered into the changing room by a soft push to his shoulders. “But you take such good care of me.”

“Who else is gonna do it?” Iwaizumi shoots back easily, successfully herding Oikawa behind the curtain because they’ve got physio in an hour, there’s no time to waste.

“There’s no one else for me,” he says without thinking, hugging his clothes to his chest.

It takes Iwaizumi aback to hear that from him so endearingly and so _bared_ that he’s certain it’s not flirtation this time. So he can’t help but show his cards as well.

“…at least take me out on a date before saying such embarrassing things Shittykawa,” he murmurs, but Oikawa catches it all right. The enormity of it makes his heart beat right through the fabric and he can only stand there shell-shocked.

This is momentous and he’s just a few steps away from changing their relationship into something it’s always meant to be and he wants to say _“yes, yes, yes”_ but before he can respond to Iwaizumi’s invitation, the physician draws the curtain between them, too mortified to look at Oikawa.

One moment there’s Iwaizumi’s uncertain but expectant expression, and the next there’s a sheet of fabric in his face and the next time he blinks, he’s met with the ceiling of his hospital room, the background noise filtering in to his ears and his eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness.

There’s no more curtain, no more dressing room and no more fashionable clothes. In those few dark seconds, Oikawa calms his racing heart and longs for that moment he cannot have in this world.

* * *

Eventually, Oikawa rationalizes that it’s a good thing he wasn’t able to continue that conversation with Iwaizumi in the world where he’s a model and an Olympic athlete. If he could, he would have yanked open the curtain to ask Iwaizumi out on a proper date and potentially change their relationship status but he figures that it’s not his place to do that. Such a decisive action is for the Oikawa of that world to experience. It was not his right to deprive him of that. (It was so weird to be thinking for himself like this. Did it make him self-centred or selfless?)

Oikawa decides that he’ll go along with the flow when he travels next time. He doesn’t know why he’s miraculously able to experience different worlds or when he’d return to normal but he doesn’t want to rock the boat too much.

The next time turns out to be a well-acquainted place. Oikawa is standing in a volleyball court, dressed in his turquoise and white jersey (thank god) with no recollection of how he got here. He looks around and the familiar sight of his teammates mopping the floor and keeping the net greets him. There are people he recognizes, people he doesn’t but he’s only ever looking out for one.

He thinks about the past two times when Iwaizumi wasn’t his teammate and he hopes it isn’t the case now.

“Captain!” someone calls out. It’s someone he doesn’t recognize. “Go ahead if you have to, you’ve stayed behind more than enough. Leave the cleaning up to us!”

“Oh, okay. Thanks for the hard work then,” he replies and remembers to ask, “By the way, where’s Iwa-chan?”

His teammate gives him an odd look and says, “In the next gym.”

Oikawa doesn’t waste time heading to the next gym, wondering what was weird about him asking for Iwaizumi. If you ask him, it’s weirder that Iwaizumi was in another gym because why would they have trainings at separate locations?

He adjusts his sports bag on his shoulder as he steps into the gym and it finally hits him why his teammate gave him a strange look. In front of him is Aoba Josai’s volleyball club that’s for sure, all of them dressed in that turquoise and white uniform, the only difference with the people in the gym he came from is that they are all females.

It’s not like he’s never seen their girls’ team or visited them during practice before so it’s not that alarming but why would Iwa-chan be here?

“Oikawa,” a low but distinctly feminine voice calls. “Let me shower and then we can go.”

His brain tells him he’s being spoken to and the natural thing to do is respond but Oikawa cannot find it in himself to form any words.

For Iwaizumi is bent over the benches, shoving her belongings into her sports bag, those slender legs and waist and _chest_ definitely, undoubtedly, indisputably _female_. Oikawa chokes on air and stares, just keeps staring because fuck, how could he not?!

Iwaizumi is clad in a fitting short-sleeved uniform, the number “4” printed across her torso, and shorts that shows off her butt and those toned legs of hers. Her hair is still short, but longer such that it touches the base of her neck and not as spiky, only sticking up behind her ears and neck. There’s sweat dripping down her face and collar and it has the same effect as when Oikawa’s stares too long at male-Iwaizumi in the locker room after practice.

He hasn’t said anything to her yet but Iwaizumi simply picks up her bag and starts to leave, ignoring Oikawa’s speechlessness. He tries very hard not to stare at her retreating figure but those legs and butt make it practically impossible.

He’s still gawking even when she’s out of sight and it takes a well-aimed ball to the side of his arm to break him out of his trance.

“Ow!” he clutches his arm and spins to see who the culprit was.

“You’re staring longer than usual,” a girl with brown hair tied into a long ponytail says, one hand on her hip. The number “1” sits distinctly on her uniform. “And more like a desperate fool.”

Oikawa wants to feel offended, but even he can’t argue with that. Nevertheless, he puts up his everyday façade and answers, “Is that any way to treat your fellow captain?”

“Oh you haven’t seen the worst of it,” she retorts and Oikawa thinks she can easily own his ass. “If you’re going to be such a pervert with our ace, I’m not going to be very nice.”

“I’m not a pervert!” he exclaims since he can’t tell her that he was ogling because he’s always known Iwaizumi to be _male_ and finding out that female-Iwaizumi is just as attractive made him lose his bearings a little.

“Right,” she says plainly. “You know, I wouldn’t even let you in here whenever you like if not for the entertaining interactions and expressions you make when you’re with her. Today is more interesting than usual. Did you finally realize how pretty our ace is?”

“I’ve always thought she was pretty,” he says without hesitation and surprises himself.

The captain of Seijoh’s girls’ volleyball club sighs and shakes her head. “It’s entertaining and all, but at some point, you two have to stop dancing around each other you know? Now go outside and wait, I’m going to lock up the gym soon.”

She takes her leave with a wave and Oikawa is left standing there mulling over the insinuation behind her words.

As he waits for Iwaizumi to return, he takes the opportunity to change into his track suit and reminds himself to behave normally. If there’s anyone who knows how to act around girls, it’s him. In spite of that, his heart skips a beat and his mouth goes a little dry when Iwaizumi appears in her school uniform, which is delightfully the lilac blouse underneath a beige vest, and the brown checkered skirt. She has her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and her socks pulled up to just under her knees. Oikawa can tell her hair is still slightly damp.

“What are you staring at? Let’s go,” she says and Oikawa scrambles to follow her lead.

Their walk home is quiet, as Oikawa can’t think of what to say to not make a fool of himself and Iwaizumi apparently isn’t one to talk much. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but he wants to talk, wants to find out more about female-Iwaizumi. Should he ask her about school? Training? No, too mundane. Should he compliment her or something? No, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t do that and Iwa-chan will probably think he’s weird. God, why is he acting like a nervous high-schooler in front of his crush? Oh wait, that’s because he is one.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” she points out abruptly, saving him the trouble of striking a conversation. “It’s weird.”

Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa questioningly and he has to look down more than usual to meet her eyes. While taller than the average girl, she’s almost a head shorter than him. Her brow is arched and her lips are pulled into a small frown. She’s so cute.

“I thought you always say I’m too noisy?” he assumes.

Turns out his assumption is spot-on, when Iwaizumi says, “Yeah, but you’re so quiet it’s creepy. And you keep fidgeting. Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says airily and Iwaizumi doesn’t take his word for it.

“Is it about the Physics test?” she guesses, but before Oikawa can try to pretend he knows what she’s talking about, she continues, “It’s just a small test, it won’t even matter that much.”

Oikawa finds it adorable that she’s attempting to comfort him over something she assumes is the problem.

“I’ll help you with Physics if you help me with Lit,” she offers with a shrug.

“You’re being nice,” he teases.

“I can be nice.”

He detects a hint of defensiveness in her voice and says with a smile, “I’ll bet. But it’s not that, I’m fine Iwa-chan.”

“If you say so.”

They fall into another bout of silence and with every passing second of wordlessness, Oikawa’s frustration builds up. He doesn’t understand why interacting with female-Iwaizumi should be any different. He’s supposed to be _good_ at this.

“Hey, you wanna get some popsicles?”

“Yes,” he blurts in the same breath, eyes wide and filled with relief that Iwaizumi quirks a brow suspiciously at him. But she leaves it at that and heads into the convenience store just a few steps ahead with Oikawa in tow.

The setter insists on paying for the both of them and not surprisingly, Iwaizumi doesn’t decline and in fact goes for the more expensive type. Oikawa doesn’t mind it one bit and tends to his own strawberry-flavoured popsicle while looking at Iwaizumi out of the corner of his eye. It’s obvious from the onset that she doesn’t fall under the feminine, dainty, frivolous type if her appearance, speech and even the way she eats her popsicle with such single-minded purpose are anything to go by. Yet Oikawa is charmed by this version of Iwaizumi too.

Being occupied with their own popsicles as they resume their walk home gives Oikawa the opportunity to study Iwaizumi furtively. He can’t help it; he might never get the chance to see this Iwaizumi again so he endeavours to make the most out of this.

She is lean; muscled in the right places that it makes her look healthy and like someone who could surpass even the boys in various athletic challenges. Oikawa can see that her skin is tan even in the night, a testament to her love for the outdoors. She walks with firm steps, marching forward like she hasn’t got time to dilly-dally. It’s not very ladylike but then again, nothing about her hairstyle or countenance is. Her hair stands at the ends, likely due to the shortness of it, and it’s a little messy, some parts of it sticking out around her ears. Her eyebrows are scrunched together as she licks at her popsicle to its core and Oikawa knows he is as far gone as he is back home when he finds it cute.

Naturally, his eyes drop to her chest. Oikawa appreciates the female form and he knows Iwaizumi’s is nowhere near what people would consider well-endowed. Her chest is small, modestly hidden under her vest and honestly, Oikawa would not prefer otherwise. He catches himself before his thoughts delve into something more inappropriate but the bright headlight and shrill bell of a bicycle from behind them steals his attention.

On instinct, he slides an arm around Iwaizumi’s waist (so much more slender than he expected) and tugs her in, away from the bicycle that whizzes past them. She grunts lightly but allows herself to get pulled towards Oikawa’s other side, attention never leaving her popsicle.

“Thanks,” she simply says and Oikawa wants to say something cool, make a witty remark, _anything_ , but his mind stubbornly lingers on the realization that in this world, it’s _okay_ for him to do this, to touch Iwaizumi like that, to show that he cares and not have to be ashamed for it.

And in that moment, his chest fills with envy. He’s envious of this world’s Oikawa, who can be with Iwaizumi openly, unapologetic and proud. Only god knows how much he yearns for that in his world.

“Oh yeah,” Iwaizumi’s clear voice starts. “Manami-san from Class 3 asked me for your number today.”

“Is that so?” Oikawa responds, forcing himself to ignore the things he cannot have and instead enjoy this moment while he still can. “Did you give it to her?”

“Of course not,” she says almost immediately and drops her popsicle stick into a nearby trashcan. “I’m not about to give away your number to anyone who asks for it but stop telling your fangirls to go through me.”

Oikawa chuckles at that. So it seems the Oikawa of this world faces the same problem and gets creative in avoiding his horde of fangirls. “But Iwa-chan, it’s so troublesome to deal with them sometimes.”

“I don’t care,” she snaps. “I’m not your secretary.”

Oikawa risks a statement he can’t be sure is reflective of this reality but says anyway, “You do such a good job with chasing them away though.”

He knows he’s hit the nail on the head when she turns to pin him with a death stare.

“See! More so with that face,” he teases.

Iwaizumi twists away with a frown. “Well sorry I was born with this face.”

“Don’t be mad Iwa-chan,” he says light-heartedly, knowing that Iwaizumi isn’t truly angry, perhaps just annoyed that Oikawa makes her his personal fangirl-repellent. Still, she faces forward resolutely, letting their banter fizzle out.

While he knows that she won’t take offence to his usual teasing, Oikawa decides to be a little truthful. He probably would never get a chance like this again so why the hell not. He steps in front of her and she pulls to a stop to avoid colliding with his chest.

When Iwaizumi looks up at him questioningly, he says, “I was kidding. You look good.”

She doesn’t respond at once, a little caught off-guard by his sudden (and in her opinion, rather unnecessary) declaration. But before she has a chance to retort or tell him not to be a dumbass, Oikawa lifts his hand and catches a stray lock of hair with his fingers. He tucks it behind her ear and the simple gesture makes her look considerably more feminine. Although it could be attributed to the look of surprise on her face, which softens her features, or the fact that he’s close enough to notice her properly.

“Like this,” he finishes above a whisper, fingers barely brushing the shell of her ear when he retracts them. He notices more than her appearance even though they’re just standing underneath the dim roadside lamps. He thinks about how cute she is with her widened eyes and slightly parted lips, he thinks about what kind of a wing spiker she is, he thinks about how they’d be like if they were together.

He could kiss her now and it would be alright.

But he is absolutely oblivious to the whirlwind of emotions within her. As reality sets in, Iwaizumi’s initial surprise dissolves into frustration. He was flirting with her, knowing that he could get away with it. And it was not fair that he could extend the same treatment to her as he did to his fangirls. She was more than that. Or at least she hoped to be. And that was the cause of it all wasn’t it? To want something you cannot have.

Frustration is an understatement.

Iwaizumi narrows her eyes at him, voice low when she tells him, “Don’t treat me like one of your fangirls.”

She sidesteps him to continue on her way, leaving Oikawa dumbfounded. It was fleeting, but he caught the stern look on her face and as subtle as it was, he noticed how she sounded…hurt. She thought he was making fun of her, treating her like she was just another girl he could flirt with. But it was not like that at all. Oikawa would never belittle their friendship like that or treat her any less than she deserved. Did the Oikawa of this world not show her that?

Envy churns his chest again, this time mixed with anger because how could this world’s Oikawa not treasure Iwaizumi more? If this was Oikawa’s reality, he would have confessed to Iwaizumi underneath the cherry blossom trees, hold her hand whenever they went on cheesy dates and kiss her in front of everyone without inhibition. “He” could have what Oikawa could not and yet he did not cherish it enough. He wishes he could slap some sense into himself. It was nothing short of maddening to see another having what you’ve always longed for, only to take it for granted.

This won’t do. He has to apologize, if not for his actions then on behalf on the Oikawa of this world. He swivels to catch up to Iwaizumi, hoping he could still salvage the situation.

“Iwa-chan—” he starts before his voice is cut off by the sudden blare of the crossing bell.

* * *

Oikawa wakes up with a start and immediately feels the soreness in his neck. Sitting upright, he realizes that he has fallen asleep (if you could even call travelling through realities that) on top of the overbed table. Rubbing the grogginess out of his eyes, he sees homework strewn across the table, a patch of drool on the corner of one of the pages which he can’t even bring himself to bother.

Any motivation to do his homework (which Iwaizumi probably brought for him) has left so Oikawa pushes the table away, throws his head onto the pillow and sighs heavily.

Oikawa still takes a while to adjust to yet another new reality when it happens again. He’s standing on the tiled floor of a kitchen, palms resting on top of the counter. The first thing he sees is an opened baby bottle and when he looks around, he sees a tin of baby formula and other tools that he presumes one would need in preparing milk.

Before he can delve into the details, the shrill sound of a baby’s cries reaches his ears and his body moves on its own accord to rush up the stairs. The baby’s cries drift from behind one of the wooden doors and Oikawa pushes it open with apprehension.

The room is little dark; the lights are switched off with only the late afternoon sunlight streaming from the curtains. There’s a cot near the window, a toy mobile spinning idly above it. Oikawa steps towards it cautiously and even though there’s literally nothing else he could have expected, he’s still surprised to see a real baby snuggled there, crying its eyes out.

Panicked and frankly a little agonised that the baby is crying so hard, Oikawa delicately picks it up (he has yet to figure out the gender of the baby given that nothing has provided any clues). He cradles its tiny head and props it against his shoulder and chest, bouncing it lightly in an attempt to stop its wailing. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, just knows that he has to make it stop for the sake of the baby and his ears. He doesn’t even know whose baby this is (but somewhere in the back of his mind he has some inkling and he can’t say it’s his idea of a family he wants).

Mimicking what he has seen from his sister, Oikawa sways as he bounces the baby gently, making soft shushing noises to calm it down. But the baby’s crying does not seem like it was going to stop anytime soon. Growing anxious, Oikawa surveys the room to see if there were any toys he could use to pacify it but his eyes catch sight of something more interesting.

Lining against the wall was a cabinet and on top of it rests several framed pictures. Oikawa goes over to inspect them while keeping up his ministrations on the baby and when he makes out who are in the pictures, he sucks in a breath.

He fully expected to see a family of three: himself, the mother (whoever she is) and the baby. He’s not entirely wrong. There was just no mother, or if there was, it was in the form of one Iwaizumi Hajime. For the photos paint a happy family of three. It is through these photos that Oikawa realizes that the baby is indeed his, probably not biologically, but his.

Warmth blossoms in his chest because this is a reality where not only were he and Iwaizumi married (yup, ring finger is occupied when he checks), but had a kid, who looks about six months old and was a girl, judging from the large ribbon on her headband. He wonders what they named her. It’s surreal to say the least, that the Iwaizumi and Oikawa of this world got so far and lived the life Oikawa thought was ideal. He’ll be damned if he denies that he’s never thought of this. He supposes anything is possible in the multiverse.

All of a sudden, the baby’s crying spikes a few decibels and Oikawa is reminded that he’s got a job to do. Throwing himself into his responsibility, he remembers the milk he was preparing halfway and it clicks in his mind that the baby is hungry. Rushing back to the kitchen, Oikawa settles her into the baby chair, caressing her head before turning to the counter.

With a determined look on his face, he stares at the formula and bottle and they stare right back at him and it dawns on him that he has absolutely no idea how to prepare milk.

He picks up the tin and turns it around to check if there are any instructions and fortunately for him, there are.

“Okay,” he murmurs and attempts to follow the instructions. Glancing over at the baby who is still wailing, he says to her gently, “Almost there okay?”

But he is not almost there. In fact, he is barely there. It’s only after he pours a scoop of formula into the bottle that he realizes he hasn’t boiled the water yet nor has he sterilised the utensils (for which he would be none the wiser since he travelled to this world in the middle of the preparation). To make matters more complicated, there was a weird contraption in front of him. It had a hole at the top and a dial with only a few settings. Was it the steriliser? Or perhaps it was the bottle warmer? Does that mean he didn’t need to boil water?

“Argh!” he exclaims, wondering why Iwaizumi isn’t here to help him with this.

Deeming his scant knowledge unreliable and not wanting to risk screwing it up, Oikawa searches around for his phone to consult Google. He swipes it from the end of the counter and like an easily distracted ferret, his concentration is broken by his mobile phone’s wallpaper.

It’s a picture of him and Iwaizumi (he still has trouble wrapping his mind over the fact that he’s his husband) against an expansive field of flowers. It looks like Hokkaido in the summer. They’re holding hands and Oikawa’s leaning towards Iwaizumi and the smiles on their faces are what Oikawa aspires to have.

Curiosity gets the better of him and he opens his gallery app, heart squeezing in delight when he’s greeted by many more pictures. A large number of them are of the— _their_ baby girl in a multitude of poses and expressions. Scrolling through the app and taking pleasure in the affectionate photos of himself and Iwaizumi, Oikawa becomes preoccupied with a certain one.

It’s particularly intimate and Oikawa blushes at the boldness of his actions. It’s a selfie taken while they’re still in bed, white sheets pulled up to their chest to reveal that they are shirtless but not anything more. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what transpired the night before. Iwaizumi is fast asleep, head tilted to the side to face Oikawa, who has taken the opportunity to skim his lips against Iwaizumi’s, their mouths barely touching and a playful smile tugging on the corner of Oikawa’s. Apparently, he has immortalized the moment in his phone and if Iwaizumi found out, he would most definitely tell him to delete it.

Oikawa is transfixed by the intimacy of it. Back in his world, these things are figments of his imagination. The Oikawa of this reality seems to have it all and he’s beginning to wonder if he’s the only one who got the short end of the stick.

Just then, the baby’s cries drop to soft whimpers and Oikawa stares at her in the hopes that she will remain like that but the moment their eyes meet, she erupts into loud crying again.

“Oh no oh no,” he mutters under his breath and awkwardly strokes her back in another futile attempt. As Oikawa thinks he’s about to lose it, the door to their apartment opens and liberation washes over him when he hears an all-too-familiar voice saying, “I’m home.”

Picking his baby up, he dashes to the entrance and greets Iwaizumi, _his husband_ , with a pathetic look on his face and an uncontrollable baby in his arms.

“Iwa-chan…” he manages helplessly.

“Hey,” he says, exuding nonchalance and sporting an understanding smile that makes Oikawa’s heart melt. “She’s fussing again?”

“I think she’s hungry?” he answers and only just notices the cabin-sized luggage that Iwaizumi came back with. That explains his absence and Oikawa’s pretty fortunate that he came in clutch.

“You didn’t make her milk?” Iwaizumi asks, reaching out to take her from Oikawa. Their arms brush and Oikawa takes a close look at Iwaizumi; they must be at least mid-thirty in this world. Older Iwaizumi looks fine, the setter thinks without shame.

“Umm…I think I need some help?” he says sheepishly and lets out a breath when their baby is transferred snugly into Iwaizumi’s arms.

He shoots him an odd look but heads into the kitchen anyway, Oikawa trailing behind. Iwaizumi carries her in the crook of his elbow, bouncing her lightly as he strokes her back fondly. It’s the same thing Oikawa did yet, her cries slowly die down and eventually, she’s sniffling away, tiny hands clutching onto the fabric of Iwaizumi’s button down.

Oikawa watches him in amazement, wondering if Iwaizumi has natural paternal instincts or something. He prepares the milk like a well-practiced father, balancing the baby girl with one arm and tending to the ingredients with his other. He occasionally gazes at her to make quiet shushing noises to soothe her, which seems to keep her from bursting into tears. From behind, Iwaizumi’s back looks broad, the baby so small when snuggled in his embrace. It’s all so tender and domestic and Oikawa thinks it’s a good look on him, though he might be a tad biased.

The milk is finally done when Iwaizumi gives the bottle a few firm shakes. He positions it in front of the baby’s mouth and she latches on, her mini hands gripping the bottle and whole being focused on getting her hunger sated. He had accomplished what Oikawa poorly attempted to do in mere five minutes.

“How are you so good at this?” he asks incredulously.

“Hmm?” he hums as he faces Oikawa fully. “You’re just as good as me, especially when you need to get her to sleep.”

“I am?” he asks, voiced laced with disbelief, earning himself another strange expression. “I mean, of course I am but…you were gone for so long!”

“I was gone for four days.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty long,” he responds with frankness, although he wasn’t even there to miss him.

Iwaizumi gives him one of his rare smiles of endearment, like everything about this moment is everything he’s been looking for. Instead of replying him though, he turns to the baby girl and says, “You didn’t give Shittykawa here too much trouble did you?”

“Don’t call me that in front of her!” Oikawa exclaims, appalled.

“She’s too young to remember it anyway,” Iwaizumi points out. “And I have to make your nickname count while I still have the chance.”

Oikawa sputters and Iwaizumi laughs at his expense, holding out his free hand to beckon him over.

“Come here.”

With a pout on his lips, Oikawa steps towards him anyway, heartbeat jumping when Iwaizumi reaches around his waist to pull him in. They’re standing hip-to-hip and Oikawa’s waist feels hot where Iwaizumi’s palm rests. It’s a moment he wants to selfishly relish in.

“You did well,” Iwaizumi praises. He squeezes Oikawa’s waist in an appreciative gesture and it makes shivers run down his spine. “Didn’t he, Kyoko?”

 _“Oh,”_ Oikawa thinks. _“Her name is Kyoko.”_

Predictably, she ignores him, attention only enough to focus on one thing. Iwaizumi smiles again (Oikawa swears he won’t get past the day if Iwaizumi kept making his heart clench) and says to Oikawa, “Thanks for managing these few days. I’m home now.”

Oikawa has to collect his bearings before saying, “Welcome home…and I had to manage, what kind of dad do you think I am?”

“The best,” Iwaizumi says, matching his playfulness and nestling his face in the crook of Oikawa’s shoulder to breathe him in. “I love you.”

It freezes the blood in his veins, having heard the words he himself had all the trouble uttering. He’s only ever imagined saying it to Iwaizumi and having them returned. So when he actually, physically hears it from the one person he wants to hear it from, albeit not in the right circumstances, Oikawa’s brain short-circuits.

He wants to say it back. If he never gets the chance to in his world, then at least, he wants to say it in this more merciful world. When Iwaizumi gets back up, their eyes meet and Oikawa purposefully holds his gaze. He opens his mouth to—

Kyoko chooses at that second to empty her milk bottle and make her displeasure known by crying again. Her cries pierce through the air, causing Oikawa to jump and he doesn’t even get to see Iwaizumi anymore.

For he’s back in his own world, dressed in hospital garb and feeling himself sink back into this reality. This time, Oikawa skips the whole stage of wishing he didn’t have to leave so early and goes straight to self-pity.

* * *

“Hey.”

“Hi Iwa-chan,” Oikawa greets with less fervour than usual, eyes following his best friend’s movement as he swings a leg over the bench to sit across him. They’re taking shelter under one of the pavilions in the hospital’s garden at the request of Oikawa who refuses to spend another minute cooped in his ward.

His dampened mood doesn’t escape Iwaizumi who asks, “What’s wrong? You’re getting discharged tomorrow.”

Oikawa shakes his head dismissively, “I’m fine. I just can’t wait to get out of here. If I have to stay another day, I think I’ll go crazy.”

The travels have got him feeling disoriented and they always leave a sort of yearning in his heart, like now when he looks at Iwaizumi, the pull in his chest is tighter and the urge to blurt out the truth is stronger.

“Yeah, I can’t wait for you to be back at school,” Iwaizumi adds.

“Really?” Oikawa perks up instantly, a little glad to hear such honesty.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Iwaizumi chides, averting his gaze. “The team’s just easier to handle when you’re around.”

“Hmmm,” Oikawa hums thoughtfully. From his experience, Iwaizumi manages the team just as well. The guys (Kyoutani included) listen to him, his leadership style is reliable and encouraging and it works well with the team.

Iwaizumi doesn’t comment further so Oikawa quietly nurses the cup of chamomile tea that he got Iwaizumi to bring in a flask. It helps him sleep better, he said. He lets his eyes wander, taking note of a young couple on one of the wooden benches, the lady spoon-feeding a man with his arm in a cast. She blows on the spoonful before popping it into his mouth, smiling when he nods his head in appreciation. It’s sickeningly sweet and it makes Oikawa think about the life he had a short trip to, where this sort of thing very likely happens. Envy is not a good emotion to keep having.

“Iwa-chan,” he calls out of the blue. “Have you ever thought about parallel universes?”

“Huh?” he asks absentmindedly, looking up from his phone.

“They’re like other universes that run parallel to ours in a different dimension but are just as real.”

“I know what a parallel universe is. What about it?”

“Do you believe in them?”

Iwaizumi finds the question rather odd but then again, Oikawa had an interest in stuff like that, his fascination with extra-terrestrial lifeforms a case in point. He’s probably had a lot of time to entertain such thoughts, so he considers the question.

“The universe is full of endless possibilities so I wouldn’t be surprised if they exist.”

“Let’s just say they do. What do you think they’d be like?”

“Like I said, the possibilities are endless—”

“What about for us then?” Oikawa probes, fully aware that he’s steering the conversation and fishing for something that would validate his hopes.

“What do you mean?” Iwaizumi quirks a brow at him.

“Maybe there’s a world where we’re not friends?” Oikawa asks for a start, careful to omit the word “just”.

“I’d like to visit that world,” he quips with a smirk.

“Rude!”

“I hope there’s a world where you’re not such a drama queen.”

“Oh Iwa-chan, don’t sweat the small stuff. Think bigger,” he urges, eyes widening with enthusiasm. “Think about a world where we’re Olympic players or even rivals. Or think long-term, maybe we’re retired and have families and have typical retirement jobs like working in Daiso. Or think out of the box, like Gozilla and Kaijuus exist or a world where I work in NASA and you study…rocks or something and instead of meeting each other in Miyagi, we met on the moon.”

Iwaizumi watches him in amusement as he rambles on excitedly about different versions of their lives. He could think of a few himself; a world where he’s taller than Oikawa would be nice, he’d also appreciate a world where Oikawa didn’t have so many fans (he’s not being a sour grape, it just annoys him sometimes). A post-apocalyptic reality where he didn’t have to worry about studies but raw survival sounded kinda cool.

But when it all comes down to it, he’d like a world where Oikawa was in love with him too.

It’s really too bad that Oikawa’s as straight as a rod.

“Or what if there’s a world where I’m a girl?” he suggests. _“Would you like me then?”_

“That’s weird,” he immediately says, furrowing his eyebrows. While it would work in Iwaizumi’s favour, he’s never wished that Oikawa was a girl. He liked him like this, undeniably male and annoyingly attractive.

“It’s entirely possible,” he believes. “I might even be interested in you.”

“Hah, I’m not your type.”

The statement surprises them into silence. On one hand, Iwaizumi can’t believe he actually said that out loud. It was such a natural reaction to assume that Oikawa-as-a-girl would not be interested in brusque, no-nonsense, average-looking Iwaizumi when Oikawa-as-a-guy already identifies them as flaws. On the other hand, Oikawa’s mind is going into overdrive reading into it. There was a reason why he highlighted how _he_ was not Oikawa’s type. Could it mean that Oikawa is _his_ type?

“You’re not my type either,” Iwaizumi adds quickly and Oikawa feels like he’s been pushed off a cliff. “Anyway, why are you asking such weird questions? Are you feeling okay? The nurse said you’ve been sleeping a lot.”

“Just tired I guess. It’s unbelievably boring in this place.”

He does feel lethargic after that, even as Iwaizumi tells him a while later that Hanamaki and Matsukawa were coming over soon. He supposes it comes with chasing after something that’s always barely within his reach.

It’s really too bad that in this particular world, they’re both dense as rocks.

* * *

 **A/N:**  And that concludes the first part of the three-shot series. The next chapter will include many more AUs! And I know I told some of you that I was working on a really long IwaOi oneshot after finishing my other fic, [21 Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12186981/chapters/27667905), and it's been like what 5 months? It's because I was swarmed with work in the beginning of the year and didn’t have time to write but I did it, I finally did it!! Also, this was supposed to be a oneshot but it got way out of hand lol so...see you in the next chapter!

Btw, about fem!Iwa, I took reference from [this](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/432064157993280426/), which I sincerely believe would be how she’d look like.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know we're all sluts for iwaoi so here ya go.

Holy shit.

“AHHHHHHH!” he hears himself screaming as the plane he’s apparently piloting crash lands into what seems like a hangar bay. Except it doesn’t look anything like an ordinary hangar. The extensive walls and floor are covered in black metal, with white lights shining from between each tile to brighten the place. He’s met with an unrecognizable scene, made of strange-looking machinery and futuristic aircrafts. It feels like he’s just stepped into the next century.

It’s chaos outside the cockpit, no different from what’s going on in his head. Oikawa sees people scurrying about like ants, no clue as to what they’re trying to accomplish. Just then, another aircraft skids into the hangar less gracefully than he did, sparks flying as the broken wheel scratches against the metal ground. Oikawa’s eyes are probably bulging out of his sockets and he has a strong feeling he needs to do something but he’s too stunned to even move.

Until someone claps him on the shoulder from behind and shakes him out of his shock.

“Oikawa! Are you okay?!”

“Mattsun!” he exclaims in relief when the familiar face of his teammate grounds him a little.

“Come on, we gotta go!” he says urgently, unbuckling his safety belt to hoist himself out of their ship.

Oikawa follows suit, fumbling with the buckle before clumsily climbing out of the cockpit. The moment he’s out, he hears the commotion and it only serves to heighten his apprehension. There are shouts in every direction, people in different coloured uniforms barking instructions and yelling the occasional curse word.

He climbs down and steps back in awe at the aircraft. It’s completely black, except for the turquoise stripes that don its sides and the numbers “01” printed on its wing. Even while damaged, it’s intimidating and majestic and he was actually flying this thing?

“Captain!” someone calls loudly and he responds to it on instinct. “You’re needed in the main bridge!”

“Let’s go,” Matsukawa says and Oikawa nervously follows the both of them to wherever the main bridge is. He tries to ignore the impending doom but it’s almost impossible when a uniformed man looks straight into your eyes as he anxiously calls you “Captain” when in fact you’re just an 18-year-old setter.

As they weave through the white corridors with Oikawa trying not to crash into people as they navigate around with purpose, Oikawa makes an effort to understand the situation. He first notices the coloured uniforms, passing by him in a flurry of movement. He spots three colours: red, blue and yellow. Looking down at himself, he discovers he’s wearing yellow. He can only wonder what it means. The insignia is all too recognizable; it’s Seijoh’s badge. Just then, someone in red bumps into him as he stumbles over his feet, shouting a “sorry Captain!” before sprinting away.

They’re in a pickle he’s sure, and if the sci-fi movies he’s watched before were any reflection of alternate realities, he infers that they’re currently light-years away from Earth, mid-battle with some unknown race and trying to defend themselves in this vessel which there is an uncomfortably high chance he’s in charge of. The sinking realization adds to his building trepidation.

When they eventually arrive at the main bridge, everything he thought was unbelievable moments ago was trifling compared to the sight before him. Through the glass, his inference that they’re light-years away from Earth is validated, for they are suspended in black space, the horizon of a sand-coloured planet greeting them from the other side. There are flashes of bright light and explosions peppering the dark sky, hardly the welcome he was expecting.

He stands rooted in the middle of the room, though room was a severe understatement. It was a command centre, a chair planted in the heart of it, reserved for the captain of the ship. There are two individuals seated in front of him, one on each side and both in yellow uniforms, their hands deftly working over the interface. One of them is Yahaba.

Around the circular room are officers clad in red and blue uniforms as well, seated in front of complicated-looking screens and advanced control boards. Oikawa notes that Iwaizumi is absent. He doesn’t have time to fret over that as their vessel is suddenly struck, shaking the ground beneath their feet, a deafening sound following in the distance.

Oikawa has no idea what they were hit by, it could very well be a freaking laser cannon taking out a chunk of their ship. He is so not qualified for this.

“Uh oh,” someone says dully and Oikawa turns to see that it’s Hanamaki. “They took out one of our plasma cannons. Like they completely ripped it off.”

“Captain!” Yahaba swivels in his chair to meet Oikawa’s eyes expectantly. “What should we do?”

“Get us out of here.”

They were counting on him to make a decision and he had not enough information to make a good one. He was not about to charge into a battle blindly. Escaping seems like the path with least casualties.

“Understood,” Yahaba says and turns back to the panel, dragging out a screen that displays numbers Oikawa cannot comprehend but Yahaba reads them with ease. “Everyone is accounted for, except…”

Oikawa does not like the way he trails off.

“What?”

“Iwaizumi-san and Kyoutani are not back yet,” he informs solemnly.

“Where are they?” he demands, marching up to Yahaba. The officer works his fingers across the screen, pulling up a radar that depicts two blue dots blinking over a topographical map. Oikawa guesses they’re both still stuck on enemy ground. Unsettled, Oikawa orders, “Connect me to him.”

Yahaba nods and soon, static crackles from the speaker.

“Iwaizumi-san?” he calls out tentatively and Oikawa holds his breath.

“Yahaba?” a coarse voice responds and Oikawa’s lungs fill with air again.

“Iwa-chan!” he exclaims, unable to hold himself back. He didn’t like that he was in here, ready to take off, when Iwaizumi was out there in harm’s way. To make matters worse, he had completely no visual of him. All he had was the sound waves undulating across the screen, spiking up whenever a loud noise resounded in the background.

“Oikawa?” he calls in surprise and relief. “You made it back.”

“Yes, where are you?” he asks urgently. The more he pays attention to the background noises, the more it seems as if Iwaizumi and Kyoutani are embroiled in the thick of a battle.

“Listen,” he says and grunts, as if he was expending a lot of strength dragging something. “Kyoutani is injured. We were ambushed and I’m trying to get us back to our ship but they’re closing—shit!”

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa calls worriedly as only sounds of a brawl fill the room.

The cacophony of noises makes it difficult to make out what’s happening but the unmistakable sound of phaser beams stands out from the din. Iwaizumi was using his weapon and he’s definitely not the only one who’s armed. It’s clear that he’s been forced to use his weapon as a defence more than an offence.

“Ngh—!”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa shouts helplessly, gripping the back of Yahaba’s seat. When nothing but a loud thud comes out from the speaker, Oikawa’s chest tightens painfully, fear filling the spaces in his lungs and stealing his voice. The universe is not so cruel that it’d transport him to a reality where he had to experience love and loss in practically the same breath right?

“We won’t—” comes Iwaizumi’s ragged breathing and Oikawa’s shoulders visibly deflate. “We won’t make it back to our ship.”

“No,” Oikawa gasps. This can’t just be it. There has to be some other way. If he was really captain of this ship, he’d know.

“I can beam them up,” Hanamaki declares, looking right at Oikawa before hunching over the screen to work his magic. Oikawa hopes it is what he means, striding over to Hanamaki.

“Iwaizumi, can you hear me?”

“Hanamaki?”

“I can beam the both of you up,” he says, eyes darting across the screen and fingers flying over the controls.

“You better make it quick then,” Iwaizumi tells him, a challenge in his voice.

“Thanks for the pressure,” Hanamaki shoots back easily and Oikawa wonders how they can still be bantering when lives could potentially be lost. Were they all such daredevils? “I need a bit more time, they’re jamming up our signals. Can you buy me some time?”

“I can do half a minute.”

“That’s enough.”

Another grunt, and Iwaizumi says, “Kyoutani, you good? We’re gonna have to make another run for it. Just to the edge.”

It doesn’t seem like he has a concrete plan but Iwaizumi sounds like he knows what he’s doing. Kyoutani growls back in response, the pain evident in his wordlessness.

“Be careful!”

“Aren’t I always?” he replies and Oikawa can almost hear a smirk. “Come on Kyoutani.”

A permanent frown settles on Oikawa’s features when he starts hearing their struggling footsteps and ragged breathing. Each zap of the phaser shoots right through Oikawa and he wishes, as inexperienced as he is, that he was fighting alongside him.

“Kyoutani, we’re going to jump,” comes Iwaizumi’s raspy voice.

“What?” the blonde asks with incredulity.

“Iwa-chan, what are you doing?”

“Buying time,” he states as-a-matter-of-factly. “Trust me.”

Oikawa can’t tell if he’s directing it at him or Kyoutani but before he can advise Iwaizumi to perhaps not be so hasty, he has already set his reckless plan into motion by declaring one word.

“Now!”

“Iwa-chan!!”

A rush of wind follows and every sound is drowned out by the whipping air against their faces. He can only imagine the faces of their unknown enemy as they watched the two of them jump to their supposed deaths.

“Hanamaki, any time would be good now!” Iwaizumi yells as he freefalls.

“I’m trying to lock on to your positions!” he tells them, trying to maintain his composure as time runs out.

“Uhhh…Hanamaki!”

“Just give me sec!” he shouts, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Makki!” Oikawa cries, nails digging into the edge of the seat.

“Got it!”

A series of beeps, loud and definite, fills their ears and soon enough, Yahaba announces from his seat, “They’re on board!”

Without hesitation, Oikawa orders, “Now get us the hell out of here.”

Yahaba nods and grips the metallic handle, eyes narrowing as he charts a path for them, “We’re going into warp. Hold on.”

Oikawa barely has time to hold on before their ship launches into warp and by the time he regains his balance, he’s missed the whole thing (what a shame) and realizes that they’ve transported to a silent void, empty of laser beams and cannon explosions. There are only stars.

He can feel the pressure dissipating from the main bridge as people sighed and shoulders sagged.

“Yahaba, you’re in charge until I get back,” he instructs, unsure of where the confidence came from and merely half-guessing that his junior is his second-in-command around here.

He doesn’t wait another minute before dashing out of the main bridge (probably not the best thing a captain should do at this juncture but he _needed_ to see Iwaizumi and Yahaba seemed capable enough). When his legs take him to the medical facility without losing the way, Oikawa chalks it up to being too focused to forget that he was not a resident of this world.

He barges into the medical room where Watari, who was sporting a blue shirt, is already helping Iwaizumi up onto one of the beds.

“Iwa-chan!” he exclaims, running up to him and eyes darting around to an open gash here and a patch of blood there. His red shirt is torn in various places, revealing his wounds crusted with dirt and sweat.

“Hey.”

“Watacchi! How is he?” he asks, assuming that the officer is trained in medicine or something of the like.

“They’re superficial wounds so he’ll be fine,” he assures, pulling open one of the drawers and fishing out what looks like a healing patch.

“I just have to slap this on right?” Iwaizumi asks as he takes it from Watari.

“Yes, for 20 minutes.”

“Got it. Go tend to Kyoutani,” Iwaizumi instructs. “I’m okay here.”

Nodding, Watari tips his head at Oikawa and leaves to the adjoining room.

“You gave me such a fright,” Oikawa chides once they’re alone.

“I was caught off guard myself,” Iwaizumi says with a slight frown and Oikawa wants to tell him that there’s a difference between fear and surprise. “This was supposed to be an ambassadors’ visit and they turned on us. We’ll have to report this to headquarters.”

“Should I also report how rash you were?” Oikawa scolds. He tells himself he did it for the sake of this world’s Oikawa, who has probably been put through many heart-attacks by the danger they’re frequently subjected to.

“I’m fine Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says.

“ _This_ doesn’t look fine,” Oikawa points out, grimacing at the laceration down his shoulder blade. The blood has already clotted, giving it a deep red colour and making sure that the skin will be marked with a scar.

“It’s just a graze,” Iwaizumi says dismissively. Oikawa’s amazed he can still say that when it looks like his skin has been burnt off by whatever advanced weapon the enemy had been using, revealing the flesh underneath. “It’ll heal better once I put this on.”

He tears open the patch that Watari passed to him and Oikawa goes to take it from his hands.

“Let me,” he says, knowing there’s no way Iwaizumi could reach over to stick it on without twisting another muscle. He’s about to peel off the tape around the perimeter when he realizes that he can’t stick it on with Iwaizumi’s shirt still on.

He notices the same thing, pulling open the drawer to take out a pair of scissors. “Here, cut open my shirt. There’s no point in keeping it anymore.”

Oikawa nods, carefully slicing through the fabric, more synthetic fibre than cloth, and gingerly peels off his shirt. (At the back of his mind, the captain notes that it’s red, just like Mattsun’s and Makki’s. From what he gathered, red likely represents operations, yellow for command and blue for medical.) Iwaizumi now sits on top of the bed half-naked and Oikawa cannot tear his eyes away. Not from the lines of muscles or his tawny skin, but from the fresh wounds that he had endured trying to get on board. A purple bruise blooms across his torso and his skin is littered in new cuts and gashes, eclipsing other year-old scars.

“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa gasps, eyes fixated on his bare skin. “You’re really hurt. We have to get Watari.”

“There’s no need,” he says, grabbing Oikawa’s wrist to prevent him from calling the medic. “Just put on the patch for now. The rest can be taken care of later.”

When Oikawa hesitates, he insists gently, “I’m fine.”

Pursing his lips, Oikawa relents and picks up the healing patch. He tears off the tape and pastes a corner onto Iwaizumi’s skin, fingers pressing into the hard muscles of his blades to lay it over his wound. He uses his fingertips to smoothen the sides for good measure and allows them to trail down his bare back, withdrawing them when they brush over a protruding scar on the small of his back.

Iwaizumi breathes in deeply, straightening his body and rolling his shoulder gingerly. The patch takes effect almost immediately, releasing the chemicals to sterilize his wound and begin the healing process. It stings a little but it’s nothing he cannot brave.

“Kyoutani’s got it worse,” he says, scowling as he recollects how they were ambushed. Who could have known that it’d be a diplomatic visit gone awry? “Those people…they came with a plan.”

He looks at Oikawa to get his two cents’ worth on the matter, he was in the fray with them after all, but the captain appeared to be engrossed in the wounds on his back.

“Oikawa?” he calls, eyebrows knitted in slight puzzlement. It was strange for him to act this way. This was nothing new. And come to think of it, he had been rather unnerved on the main bridge. He was usually able to keep his composure or hide his worry; that’s how they made this work even in the circumstances they were in. “What’s wrong? You seem…a little too shaken.”

“I’m okay,” Oikawa sighs, though it does nothing to quell his uneasiness. He doesn’t even understand why he’s feeling this way so strongly. He’d be out of this world in a while and what happens in this reality was not his problem to deal with. His only guess is that he’s experiencing the lingering emotions of his other self when he inhabits his body. After all, it can’t be all him right? What does a high-school volleyball player know about surviving in a future filled with technologically-advanced weapons and hostile alien races?

Iwaizumi sees through him without fail. Sighing, he takes a hold of Oikawa’s wrist and leads him towards him, parting his legs to make room for the captain. Oikawa’s heartbeat spikes, but he silently fits himself into the space.

“You know we’ve been through worse,” Iwaizumi says quietly, an attempt to allay his concerns but Oikawa’s restlessness only builds. Its implication is not something he wants to dwell upon. All he knows is that he doesn’t want any of himself to experience what it’s like losing Iwaizumi.

When he answers, he speaks for himself and the “him” of this world.

“I can’t lose you,” he tells him, softly but surely. “And I came this close today.”

Iwaizumi sucks in a breath, lips parted, gripped by the gravity of Oikawa’s words and the fear in his brown eyes. He’s found himself in many perilous situations and each and every time, he makes it back to Oikawa. He’s always been confident of his abilities, perhaps to the point of recklessness, that at times he forgets it’s not always in his control. Oikawa knows this too and sometimes, it decides to give them a solemn reminder. Like now.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, tugging Oikawa in and looking up to meet his eyes.

“No…it’s not your fault,” he says, holding his gaze. He knows this is their life and he knows Iwaizumi tries his best. Oikawa stands there for a while, between Iwaizumi’s legs, towering over him until he’s suddenly aware of how close they are.

The distance between their bodies is small and Iwaizumi has to crane his neck to look at Oikawa. His palms rest on his hips, thumbs rubbing small circles around his hip bones. Oikawa has unknowingly settled his hands on Iwaizumi’s shoulders, fingers curled tenderly over the base of his neck. His first reaction is to retract his hands and put some distance between them, but Iwaizumi looks at him with such fondness and the naturalness of being like _this_ makes him think twice, makes him think, _“Could it be?”_

“By the way,” Iwaizumi breaks the silence and digs into his holster to pull out a small rock about the size of a golf ball. “Got something for you.”

Oikawa tilts his head in curiosity and takes the rock from him. At first glance, it looks like any normal rock, brown and rough, until he turns it in his hands to see the other side.

“Oh wow,” he whispers, eyes widening in amazement. It’s been sliced open on one end, revealing the insides of the rock. It’s a light blue marble-like texture, smooth against the jagged edges of where it has been sliced. It’s lined with fine cracks and dotted with tiny flecks of gold, catching the light when he turns it in certain angles.

“For your weird space rock collection,” Iwaizumi says with a grin.

There are a few things Oikawa gleans from that. Firstly, he has a space rock collection. Secondly, Iwaizumi contributes to that space rock collection and lastly, Iwaizumi literally stopped to pick this dumb, beautiful rock up while he was trying not to die. Oikawa can’t decide what to do with this information.

“I can’t believe you got this for me while you were trying not to die,” he says, half-incredulously and half-amused.

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Thought you might like it.”

“You’re an idiot,” he says through a smile. “I love it.”

He swipes a thumb over the smooth surface of the rock before putting it away on the bed. Oikawa decides to go with his gut feeling, stepping closer to Iwaizumi and lowering his head to shorten the distance between them. He feels his heart race when Iwaizumi involuntarily straightens to reach out to him.

Oikawa wants to savour this, be fully conscious of the evanescent quality of this moment. It’s hard to tell if he has the luxury of experiencing this again. He studies the lines of Iwaizumi’s face, more defined than the boyish features he’s accustomed to, takes note of the faint scar that cuts across his eyebrow and appreciates the greenness of his eyes. He must have been staring too intently, for Iwaizumi throws him an amused look.

“What?” he says under his breath, eyes never leaving Oikawa’s. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

So this is what it feels like. To have what you’ve been chasing after finally be within your grasp. How can he say no to that?

Oikawa rests his hand along the line of Iwaizumi’s jaw, the tip of his finger grazing his earlobe. He can tell it tickles, for Iwaizumi’s breath hitches. He lowers his head as Iwaizumi raises his and Oikawa’s tongue peeks out to wet his lips. The distance between them disappears as Oikawa, eyes shut and heart pounding, closes his mouth over Iwaizumi’s.

It’s electrifying to kiss him the way he’s always wanted to. He kisses with a languid sense of purpose and Iwaizumi meets him with equal measure. They take their time to relish in the warm press of lips; this world owes them that much for the risks they have to take. Even when air becomes a necessity, Oikawa doesn’t break the kiss, just parts his lips against Iwaizumi’s to breathe into him before sealing them once again. He cards his fingers through the hair on Iwaizumi’s nape to support him, deepening their kiss to taste him better. Iwaizumi’s grip on his hips tighten and Oikawa’s skin tingles in delight.

When they part, Oikawa breaks into a smile, unable to contain the pure joy of being able to show his affection like this. They may be living in a world that threatens their lives more than he’s comfortable with, but if he can come back to his side at the end of the day, it’s a pretty good deal to him.

Iwaizumi smiles back at him and it’s so natural for Oikawa to say, “I love you.”

It’s liberating to say the least, a stark contrast to the times he whispered it like a secret or kept it in the cages of his mind.

“I—”

A loud beep interrupts them and Oikawa wants to throttle whoever ruined their moment. He can’t have everything he supposes. Yahaba’s voice emanates from the device he’s wearing on his wrist and Oikawa doesn’t like the apprehension in his tone.

“Captain, I’m sorry to interrupt but…you might want to come see this.”

His eyes dart to Iwaizumi’s, whose bewilderment mirrors his. What could they possibly encounter when they’ve already warped? The more questions left unanswered, the more wary they become.

“We better go,” Iwaizumi says and Oikawa wants to advise him to remain warded and wait for proper medical attention first.

But he doesn’t get the chance, because a deafening sound rumbles through the ship and it is without warning that the vessel shakes violently, taking Oikawa down with it.

* * *

He travels again, floating through the abyss where he passes by scenes of a lifetime he doesn’t remember living. He lets himself get carried by the drift and closes his eyes to the unintelligible whispers and mumbled voices.

When Oikawa opens his eyes again, it feels as if he’s been sleeping. It turns out he’s right, when he sees the wooden ceiling above him, extending down into walls to enclose him in a bedroom. It’s uncommon to see wooden ceilings and walls ever since plaster was invented but what made it more peculiar was that it was old. Bleary-eyed as he is, he can see dark patches decorating it in various places, like it had not been very effective in keeping the rain out.

Oikawa sits up and simply idles for a while. He feels exhausted, as if he had been working too hard. He contemplates sleeping it off for the rest of the time he’s here, except staring down at his lap makes him jerk back a bit, eyes widening a fraction.

He’s wearing a kimono, not the usual kind with bright colours and modern patterns but the kind he’d find in history textbooks about life in the Edo period. His kimono is of a steel blue, the only patterned part was along the hem, embellished with golden ginkgo trees and soaring birds, all unique in their individual design. The kimono is beautiful and the linen is soft to the touch. Inside, he’s wearing a white robe, hung loosely around his frame. Oikawa won’t claim he knows much about kimonos, but this piece looks expensive and yet, he was careless enough to sleep in it, tied haphazardly around his waist and now wrinkled.

He feels out of place wearing it and even though he should have gotten used to the changes of his environments, this one seems more unusual than most. Come to think of it, he’s sitting atop a tatami mat in a near-empty room (except for the lacquered wooden box and antique tin container at the far end of the room), surrounded by patchy walls and it all just doesn’t sit right with him.

Pushing himself up, Oikawa fixes his kimono and hair as best as he can without a mirror and slides the door open (this really is such a traditional room). He slips on the zori sandals at the foot of the door and slowly searches his way around. As he makes it down the corridor, lined with sliding doors and private rooms, Oikawa doesn’t bother keeping his curiosity at bay. The entire structure of this building exudes antiquity, as if he’s living in days of the distant past.

Eventually, Oikawa reaches a stairway and as he peeks over the railing, he hears the din of a dinner crowd before he sees the scattered throngs of people below. He descends the stairs as inconspicuously as he can, pretending to appear as if he belongs here even as his mind races to make sense of this situation.

At least now he knows for certain that he’s travelled to the past, if the traditional layout of the place and old-fashioned clothes everyone was wearing are anything to go by. He’s in a tea house, a rather popular one as customers occupied almost all the tables and some of the more private areas. Sake bottles litter the table-tops and Oikawa notices a few drunk men, all of them with companions and looking like they knew how to properly enjoy themselves. He catches sight of a short-haired blond beauty and finds her familiar. What kind of tea house is this?

As he meanders about the restaurant, he hears his name being called.

“Tooru!” someone whispers fiercely.

In the next instant, he finds a familiar face all up in his, the man’s amber eyes conveying a mixture of shock and disbelief. Oikawa can’t help but notice how stunning he looks in his forest green kimono and is that make-up on his face? But most importantly, why was Refreshing-kun calling him by his first name?

“How could you wander around here looking like this?!” he asks in alarm, hastily shepherding him back upstairs by the arm, head turning left and right to ensure that nobody had spotted them.

Oikawa remains as puzzled as ever. Did he not look presentable?

“What’s going on?” he asks, making no effort to mask his confusion.

“Should you not be answering that instead?” Sugawara shoots back, throwing him a reprimanding look. “How could you show yourself downstairs bare-faced and in unwashed clothes? Oh Tooru, did you take a nap in the private quarters again?”

Oikawa can’t begin to describe how weird it sounds for Karasuno’s setter to be addressing him by his given name but the peculiarity of this state of affairs precedes that.

“Uhh, yes?” he answers tentatively.

“You’re well aware we’re not allowed to use the private quarters as we wish,” he admonishes lightly, turning them around a corner, away from the room he had woken up in.

“Why not?” Oikawa challenges. It was his room wasn’t it?

“Those private quarters are strictly for business,” Sugawara states firmly and Oikawa has a feeling it’s not the first time he’s been told as such. “And you should know we accord the highest form of service for our clients.”

Oikawa wrinkles his nose at that.

Sugawara continues, herding him into an empty room, “After all, we did not build a reputation out of carelessness and insolence here in Yoshiwara.”

Oikawa knits his eyebrows trying to figure out why the name sounds so familiar and halts. Abruptly, he swivels on his heel to pin Sugawara with a demanding glare.

“What did you say?”

Unfazed, Sugawara answers, “Oh don’t make me repeat myself Tooru, you heard what I said.”

Dread settles in the pit of his stomach as he realizes the direness of the circumstance he’s in. If he remembers correctly, and he’s certain he did, he has just found himself in a widely-mentioned yet vaguely described place he learnt about in Japanese history and Lit.

Yoshiwara was a place of hedonism and barely kept secrets. It offered a form of release and men were enticed by the pleasures it could provide that it saw no lack of regulars. The bolder establishments had courtesans displayed behind lattices, like goods in a store where satisfaction is almost always guaranteed. The smaller ones hid behind the veil of a shop house or sometimes a tea house, offering respite and a night of gratification if the customer so wishes. There was no shortage of indulgence, no quiet night and it was in Yoshiwara, the famous pleasure district of Edo, where the oldest profession thrived.

Realizing this, Oikawa can only hope that he would not be caught in an undesirable situation but the uncertainty of it brings him no comfort.

Sugawara seats him in front of one of the many vanity mirrors and proceeds to take out an assortment of cosmetic supplies from the drawer. Oikawa finally notices that they’re in a dressing room and the implication of getting his make-up done intensifies the foreboding feeling churning in his stomach.

Perhaps he can find a way out of this. Sugawara might look like he belonged here (oh, what would Sawamura think, Oikawa laments), but he definitely did not want to be trapped in a decadent place like this. Flirtatious as he is, he actually values _some_ old-fashioned ideas. Oikawa allows Sugawara to pad powder on his face, using the lull to wrack his brain for an excuse, an escape route.

He could pretend he’s unwell, more specifically, he could say he’s got the runs. That’d surely give him a legitimately reason to stay out of work. Nobody would want to be served by someone who’s prone to frequent visits to the lavatory, especially not in this line of work.

Sugawara tilts his head up by the chin and instructs, “Part your lips.”

He obeys for a lack of better options and the grey-haired courtesan paints them dark red with a thin, long brush. When he’s finished, Oikawa purses his lips to spread the wetness and evenly distribute the colour. He doesn’t waste another moment to clutch at his stomach, mustering an expression of discomfort for Sugawara to witness.

The world elects to interrupt him then with a loud, lustful moan, the culprit obviously in the throes of passion. It’s emitted from one of the nearby rooms and Oikawa’s no prude, but the exaggerated sensuality of it uttered under these licentious circumstances makes him nervous.

“It seems like someone’s having an early shift,” Sugawara remarks, desensitized to such brazenness.

But Oikawa’s another case. He’s still a virgin and by no means did he want to lose that here, never mind that this was not his own body. He’s read about it, he knows how it could hurt and he absolutely does not want to be hurt by a faceless stranger. The more he dwells on the issue, the more panic rises like bile.

“Su—Koushi,” he corrects in time, remembering that they were not supposed to use their family names. "I don’t think—”

Someone knocks twice and the shoji opens to reveal a dark-haired, narrow-eyed beauty.

“My apologies for interrupting,” he bows and says, voice like velvet, and looks at Oikawa. “Tooru-san, your client is here.”

Oikawa sits upon the tatami mats, speechless. Never had he imagine that Akaashi Keiji would be a harbinger of such bad news.

“Thank you Keiji,” Sugawara says to the younger courtesan, who takes his leave. He turns back to Oikawa, who has yet to recover from the horror of this reality, and sighs. “Why don’t you change into a new kimono Tooru?”

He tidies up the supplies efficiently and pads across the room to the wooden cupboard.

“This would be good,” he comments as he takes out a neatly folded set of kimono, laying it over his forearms as he presents it to Oikawa. “Here, I’ll put it on for you.”

When Oikawa re-enters the dining area 15 minutes later, palms sweating and still trying to find a way to flee, Akaashi walks up to them.

“He’s waiting at his usual table,” he informs him, indicating in the direction of where the outdoor tables were. Sugawara pats him encouragingly on his back and leaves with Akaashi to tend to their own matters. Oikawa has half a mind to bolt right this instant but when he looks over his shoulder, Sugawara is still watching him, a look of concern subtle on his features.

So Oikawa trudges over to the veranda and catches a glimpse of his mystery client.

A gasp escapes from his painted lips at the sight of the no-longer stranger. At the very end of the veranda where it overlooks the riverbank sits a black-haired, well-built young man no older than he is. He has his face turned away from Oikawa as he looks across the river, fishing boats floating on the water’s surface to make it back home for the night, but even under the shadows cast by dim lights of the oil lamps, Oikawa could never mistake that form, that look, the way it makes him yearn.

Oikawa’s legs takes him to the man, his nervousness now stemming from an entirely different cause.

“Good evening,” he greets pleasantly, as if something has clicked into place and that everything will be okay, despite the fact that this is still a den of iniquity and he is still a slave to this ignoble trade.

Iwaizumi looks up at him and blinks a few times before forcing himself not to stare.

“Hey,” he greets back casually, adjusting his position as Oikawa joins him across the low table.

There’s a bottle of sake and two unturned cups and Oikawa puts whatever he’s learnt about Edo etiquette to use. He pulls back his kimono sleeves and pours them both a cup of sake each. He can smell the rice wine as it flows into the porcelain cup and he prays he wouldn’t choke on it or do anything mortifying like that. He’s never tried sake except for the handful of times he’s had a taste during family gatherings. Technically, he wasn’t legal to drink.

Oikawa leans back on his knees and folds his hands properly on his lap when he’s done. Iwaizumi doesn’t help himself to the drink so Oikawa follows suit. Sensing a bout of awkward silence coming, Oikawa attempts to make polite conversation, concurrently trying to discover the life he leads in this world.

“It’s good to see you again,” he starts, quite sure that they’ve met each other multiple times, especially since Akaashi had called Iwaizumi _his client_. That alone is enough to make him heat up under the layers of his kimono.

“I said I would. So here I am.”

Iwaizumi’s voice is rough, his gaze piercing. It makes Oikawa look away self-consciously, still not used to this version of his best friend. He can’t read him very well as he comes across as a guarded person. Even from his clothing, Oikawa cannot tell what he does as a living. He’s wearing a plain Prussian blue kimono and grey umanori hakama, a typical traditional get-up that doesn’t give away much. Oikawa thinks he looks good in traditional clothing too, there’s sort of a rugged appearance about him, but that’s not the point. The point is, Iwaizumi is still an enigma and it’s still unclear what kind of relationship they exactly have. Oikawa hopes it’s not merely transactional.

“A drink?” he offers to dispel the silence.

“To?” Iwaizumi asks but holds up the cup anyway.

“Nothing in particular,” he shrugs but amends, “The night, if you will.”

Iwaizumi nods and downs the sake in a single gulp. Oikawa copies him and strategically covers half his face with his kimono sleeve, effectively shielding his gagging expression. The alcohol burns a trail down his throat and leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. He makes a mental note not to encourage more.

“How was your day?” he asks, expression forced into normalcy. Oikawa continues to wonder about what Iwaizumi is like in this reality, about his profession, and endeavours to find out.

“We had a few new students at the dojo,” Iwaizumi answers. “I didn’t get to see them practise much but I overheard the senseis saying they are promising.”

Immediately, Oikawa muses over the kind of dojo Iwaizumi is employed at. Did he teach martial arts? Or the way of the sword? Both are impressive and he expected nothing less of Iwa-chan.

“And yourself?” he probes, wanting to satisfy his curiosity.

“Sensei allowed me to teach the younger students,” he says, pouring himself another cup of sake. Oikawa relaxes when he doesn’t serve him one. He downs it before continuing, “They are rather bratty, but not hopeless.”

It’s no challenge to imagine Iwaizumi as a teacher. He is nurturing, despite his relatively aggressive style of educating. Oikawa may be captain, but Iwaizumi had taught him his fair share and they were lessons he’d always be grateful to have knocked into him.

“You are a good teacher, Iwa-chan,” he commends, fondly reminiscing the times Iwaizumi had fiercely imparted knowledge to him.

“How would you know?”

The sharpness of his tone takes Oikawa aback. What’s up with the sudden cynicism?

“From the impression you give me,” he replies vaguely.

“What kind of impression do I give you?”

There’s a pause before he responds. Oikawa tilts his head at Iwaizumi and keeps his voice light so that it remains a banter, something he can definitely play with.

“Is this an interrogation?” he counters evasively.

Iwaizumi looks down briefly before giving Oikawa an apologetic look.

“No. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, but there is no need for belligerence,” Oikawa says amiably. “Let us enjoy the night shall we?”

“And there’s no need for empty compliments,” he tells him too, holding Oikawa’s gaze. “You know I am not here for that.”

Iwaizumi may not be familiar about the workings of the red light district, but he is aware that it is common in their trade to pander to their customers. Lies or not, if it makes them happy, then it puts food on their tables and that’s usually what matters.

“Then what are you here for?” he asks hesitantly, a bit nervous that Iwaizumi is not how he is used to. Perhaps he had futilely hoped that their relationship was not only built on the exchange of goods and services.

“I wanted to see you.”

“Oh.”

Iwaizumi had said it so earnestly, like it took him nothing to admit that though he knows how it puts everything on the line, that Oikawa is caught off guard. He swallows thickly, unable to look away from Iwaizumi, whose eyes hide no secrets.

Iwaizumi might have been harsh but it was only because he didn’t want Oikawa to treat him like any other customer. He did not want to be pandered to. He wanted Oikawa’s sincerity. Even if Oikawa treated this as something purely commercial, it was never the case for him. So call him a fool for falling in love in Edo’s pleasure quarters, but the moment he laid eyes on the man, he knew he was done for.

Before either of them can say anything more, someone lumbers into what’s supposed to be their private dining area, his loud voice an unwelcome presence to their otherwise peaceful night.

“Tooru!” he thunders and Oikawa rears back in aversion. There’s no doubt he’s tipsy, for his steps are unstable and his behaviour conveys a blatant disregard for social decorum. If it were not for the unfocused eyes and ruddy cheeks, he might actually be rather attractive. “Is _this_ the reason you are unavailable tonight?”

He casts his gaze down to Oikawa’s companion, sparing no effort to conceal his disdain for the man. Slanting his eyes back to Oikawa, he slurs, “Come away with me, I never fail to please.”

He speaks suggestively, leaving his sentence open for interpretation and Oikawa feels more repulsed. The drunken man persists, reaching down to grab Oikawa by the elbow, pulling him up roughly.

“Excuse me…” Oikawa gasps as he is forced to stand, lest his elbow bruises from the strength of his grip.

“Let go.”

It’s Iwaizumi who demands, voice cold and deadly. He doesn’t stand from his seat and Oikawa can feel the enmity from his glower, even as the lamps cast shadows on his face. The man however, doesn’t recognize a threat when he sees one.

“Who do you think you are?” he questions menacingly, releasing Oikawa’s elbow to loom over Iwaizumi. Something about his calm yet intimidating exterior riles him up. With a sneer on his lips, he spits, “I’ll tell you. You’re nothing but a peasant trying to live like a king.”

“Hey!” Oikawa shouts, but his protest goes unheard.

“Or perhaps I should tell you to enjoy this while you can?” he continues derisively. “After all, how long can you keep this up? You cannot afford Tooru.”

“You asshole,” Oikawa growls, too outraged at the man’s rudeness to realize that it was not an expletive of this century. He is not ignored this time, because even though it was an unrecognizable profanity, the tone he used was enough to aggravate the drunkard.

He advances towards Oikawa, who retreats hesitantly for he was much larger in frame and under the blind influence of alcohol and anger. In an instant, he feels his kimono tighten around his neck as he is seized by the tomoeri, violent hands twisting the pristine fabric and almost choking him.

Oikawa barely has time to gasp when the sharp, distinct sound of a sword unsheathing pierces the air in the same breath. There is complete silence as everyone stands motionless and even the chatter in the main hall begins to subside.

A sword keeps a dangerous distance from the man’s throat, the light reflecting off the sharp point of the blade. The man gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing and precariously close to the edge of the sword. Oikawa’s eyes follow the length of the blade, noticing the calloused hand wrapped around the hilt and finally landing on the person himself, whose green eyes are icier than he’s ever seen before.

“Let him go.”

The grasp on Oikawa’s kimono loosens and he steps away in astonishment. With such intensity from a man who put a blade to his throat in frightening speed, he has no choice but to obey. Yet, Iwaizumi doesn’t sheathe his sword. He keeps it right in the middle of the man’s throat, not enough to graze him but to render him immobile and prevent any claims of causing grievous harm.

Sugawara shuffles up to them hastily then, obstructing the view from the main hall, where customers have started to whisper among themselves.

“My lord,” he refers to the unwelcome guest, keeping his voice mild in an attempt to control the situation. “You’ve had a little too much to drink. Let me show you to your quarters.”

The man, now sobered up from his chilling experience, nods feebly.

“Sir,” Sugawara says, addressing Iwaizumi now. His gaze flits from the sword to his eyes and speaks with a warning in his words. “Your sword please.”

Iwaizumi glances at Sugawara for the briefest of moments and sheathes his sword as quickly as he had drawn it. Oikawa watches as the blade disappears into its scabbard with a _shing_. He stares at his protector, chest filled with awe, but he doesn’t meet his eyes.

Sugawara has another courtesan escort the man away and now that they were alone, Oikawa takes a breath though it does not help in calming his nerves, which are all in a mess, courtesy of one swordsman.

“I apologize,” he says to Iwaizumi and swallows to hush his racing heart. “Shall we…retire upstairs?”

“Tooru…” Sugawara calls, but it sounds more like a word of caution. Oikawa is rather tired of his cryptic messages. Why did he always make Oikawa feel like he’s doing something he shouldn’t? They are workers of a place where morals are scarce so as long as he is doing his job, what wrong is he in?

“What is it Koushi?” he snaps impatiently. “Am I not allowed to earn my keep?”

It seems to get his point across, as Sugawara acknowledges softly, “Yes, of course.”

“Let’s go Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, gathering his kimono to stride off with Iwaizumi behind him.

They end up in the same room Oikawa had woken up in, since he did not know of any alternative place to go. The walk up is silent, neither of them knowing what to say but Oikawa refuses to let it linger. He was just saved in the most jaw-dropping way by someone who is many things to him in many lives and he was raised with well manners so the least he could do is show his gratitude.

Oikawa slides the door close behind them and says to Iwaizumi, “Thank you.”

The swordsman nods. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Oikawa replies. He was shaken, with being in a foreign century and getting hauled off his feet and all, but the tension was starting to wear off. “I’m fortunate you were there.”

“I won’t always be.”

Oikawa finds he has nothing to say to that, especially when Iwaizumi looks at him with such affliction that can only be caused by powerlessness. He still isn’t able to fully understand the depth of their relationship in this world, but it’s clear to him that they don’t have it easy. There’s nothing much he can do, but it doesn’t stop him from trying.

Remembering their conversation before they were interrupted, Oikawa confesses, “I’d like to see you more often. We could meet somewhere else. It doesn’t have to be here.”

A bit surprised at the change in topic but appreciating it nonetheless, Iwaizumi asks, “Where would you like to go?”

“Oh I don’t know, surprise me,” he quips, making himself comfortable on the futon and motioning for Iwaizumi to do the same. “Perhaps you could teach me a thing or two at the dojo.”

“Are you certain?” Iwaizumi asks doubtfully but the anticipation is evident in his voice.

“Of course,” he smirks. “I’d be a delight.”

It earns him a light scoff from his companion, who teases, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Well, isn’t that why you’re here?”

In his ensuing speechlessness, Oikawa can hear Iwaizumi swallow. Neither of them say anything more, for words are becoming superfluous at this point. Oikawa was right and they both know this. As much as he is pompous, Iwaizumi enjoyed being around Oikawa, drawn to his intriguing character and undeniable beauty. So it was not flattery, it was the truth. Not admitting it is just easier. But what’s even simpler is how they can slowly close the distance between them, eyes flicking down to their mouths and tongues swiping over full lips, before meeting in a kiss.

Oikawa’s heart hammers in his chest. He can never grow tired of Iwaizumi’s lips on his own, gentle and assuring and moving seamlessly against his. Perhaps it’s because this is something he’s never experienced in his reality that he craves it more now. Iwaizumi’s hand reaches up to hold his cheek as he kisses and Oikawa feels the tingle where his calloused hand grazes his skin. He makes a small sound at the back of his throat and Iwaizumi moves in to lower him gradually onto the futon, using his free hand to cushion his head as he rests against the pillow.

Iwaizumi breaks the kiss, looming over him as he simply takes in the sight before him. Oikawa is breathing hard, chest rising and falling under the intense gaze of his companion. His lips are full and soft, its previous redness having lost its vibrancy, smeared across Iwaizumi’s lips instead. His kimono is slightly untidy, the folds parted to tease Iwaizumi with a sliver of his chest.

The swordsman rests his fingers on the strip of skin, sliding them down to open up his kimono, eliciting a hitched breath from Oikawa. Iwaizumi marvels at both the beauty of his kimono and of what it covers. Tonight, Oikawa’s kimono is dark red, its back adorned with cranes with their magnificent wings fully stretched. Underneath the outerwear is another layer of kimono, this time black with gold decorations of nature’s beauty. The very last layer is a plain black kimono, secured loosely with an obi. Iwaizumi takes a while to appreciate Oikawa, who looks exquisite as always in gorgeous layers and an air of seduction.

Darting his eyes to Oikawa’s to gauge his reaction, Iwaizumi proceeds to liberate the courtesan of his outer layers. He slides the red and black cloths off his shoulders and Oikawa dutifully slips his arms out from the sleeves, leaving him lying on the smooth fabric, unbothered with how he’s going to wrinkle them terribly.

Iwaizumi dips to kiss him again on the mouth, more firmly this time. He wants more, but he’s always been afraid to take. Oikawa is not his, he belongs to this trade and he is but a mere swordsman with nothing to his name. Still, he wants. Iwaizumi traces his tongue along the seam of Oikawa’s bottom lip and it’s all it takes for him to part his lips, welcoming the wet heat into his mouth.

It’s the most intimate he’s ever been with anyone so the way his heart pounds is a given. As Iwaizumi kisses him with fervency, fingers gliding down the slit in his kimono, Oikawa feels his skin flush. His touch on him is like fire, burning a trail that leaves not ashes, but a desire for more in its wake. The sensation stops just above his naval and in his hazy mind, Oikawa wonders what’s wrong.

His companion breaks the kiss to gaze at him hesitantly, like he’s seeking for permission to continue. He would not venture further if he doesn’t wish for it genuinely. How innocent. It was Oikawa’s job to do this. Yet little did he know that this was an Oikawa of a different life, who would take no belonging of his to have this night. Encounters like this were figments of his imagination and to have them occur in reality, Oikawa finds that he does not want to stop.

So he nods.

Iwaizumi relaxes but the moment he brings his attention back to Oikawa’s body, he tenses up again. Licking his lips, he unties his obi and slips it out from underneath him, leaving them in a haphazard spiral on the floor. With nothing securing the last layer of kimono, Iwaizumi parts the fabric, sliding it off his body and leaving little to his imagination. He stares unabashedly, gaze sweeping over Oikawa’s form to appreciate him for all his beauty. His skin is softer and paler than he is used to, his profession in this world a contributing factor, but no less smooth.

Oikawa feels self-conscious under Iwaizumi’s attentive gaze, clad only in his fundoshi after all. He is certain his skin is flushed in multiple places (if not all) and while he revels in the affection he’s accorded with, he wishes Iwaizumi wouldn’t look at him like he’s willing to give everything up for him.

His heartbeat jumps when Iwaizumi starts to lean down but he merely presses a chaste kiss to his lips, planting a trail of feather-light kisses on his cheek, along his jaw and beneath his ear. It sends shivers down his spine and he clutches Iwaizumi’s shoulders for purchase.

Softly, Iwaizumi whispers into his skin, “You are beautiful.”

Oikawa inhales sharply, grateful that Iwaizumi cannot see how he hangs onto every word. He wishes he could gather all the good things he has in every world and bring them back to his, but while he’s able to spend nights of passion with Iwaizumi in this reality, he doesn’t have to worry about giving himself up for others in his own world. He supposes the universe is fair like that.

But he does not want to mull over fairness and equity and complex matters like that. So he throws himself into the moment, reaching down to tug Iwaizumi’s kimono out of his hakama. Iwaizumi helps out a little, encouraged by Oikawa’s apparent eagerness and soon, he’s freed of his kimono with his hakama hanging precariously low on his hips.

The swordsman is gorgeous in his own way as well, as Oikawa immediately discovers. Sitting up with between Iwaizumi’s legs, he admires the lines of muscle on his body, fitting for a man who is dedicated to the way of the sword, and gapes rather conspicuously at the scars that mar his skin. Oikawa shamelessly reaches out to graze a finger over the cicatrix that lies across his pec and the skin twitches under his touch. There’s another one along his waist, longer, and he wonders how many more he would find.

“How did you get this?” he asks.

“I thought I’ve told you before,” Iwaizumi answers.

“Tell me again,” Oikawa implores quietly.

“A scuffle with a bunch of ruffians twice my size,” he explains. “I was reckless once.”

“You won right?”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

Oikawa smiles at that. He watches Iwaizumi under long lashes, before lowering his head to close his mouth over the ridge, hearing his companion exhale shakily. The skin is smooth under his lips and fits perfectly between them. It’s a bold move that makes Iwaizumi blush, hand coming up to cradle Oikawa’s head. His heartbeat quickens and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Oikawa, who leaves the ghost of a kiss on the sensitive skin.

When he searches Iwaizumi’s face, he is still blushing red. It’s endearing how he is so bold with what he needs to do yet so shy with what he wants. Oikawa can lend a hand with that; he understands what he wants for he desires the same.

Reaching up, he meets Iwaizumi’s lips again in a more forceful kiss. Iwaizumi matches his intensity, keeping their lips locked as he pushes them down on the futon once more. He grips Oikawa’s hips, pushing them up against the bedding so that he can fit himself more comfortably between his legs. Oikawa circles his arms around his neck, moans into his mouth when Iwaizumi squeezes his thigh and hooks his leg over his hip. He breaks the kiss with a loud smack and buries his head in Oikawa’s neck, nipping the skin lightly between his teeth.

He knows very well how this could end, but Oikawa doesn’t bring himself to care or tell himself to stop. He’s way past that point now. As Iwaizumi brings Oikawa pleasure, the traveller can’t help but think, at the back of his mind, that the line between work and love is blurring. It’s evident that the affection from Iwaizumi does not stem solely from physical attraction. There’s something more to them than both of them are admitting. He wonders how that would pan out, when the cards they are dealt with are not in their favour, but he doesn’t get to wonder much for he suddenly wakes with a gasp.

“Woah, you okay?”

“Huh?” he mumbles groggily, trying to make sense of his environment. “What happened?”

“What do you mean? I went to get a drink downstairs and found you napping.”

“Again?” he asks wearily with a sigh of resignation.

“No, you’ve only been napping for 10 minutes.”

“ _That_ was 10 minutes?” he asks incredulously, dragging a hand down his face. He takes a while to adjust to his own reality, which is in the form of his bedroom, notebooks scattered across his coffee table and Iwaizumi the spiker sitting opposite him, pen in hand. They must have been revising together.

“Are you okay?” comes Iwaizumi’s concerned voice again and Oikawa shakes away the remnants of his most recent travelling experience, leaving them for him to reflect upon later.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he claims, picking up his pen to resume his studying though he’s having some difficulty continuing from where he left off.

His best friend eyes him warily but shrugs it off, going back to frustrate over his math problem. Unlike him, Oikawa cannot seem to concentrate on his revision, scenes of another lifetime flashing across his eyes whenever he lingers on the person before him.

* * *

As with each travel, Oikawa doesn’t remember how he ends up here, only vaguely recalling sneak peeks into different dimensions as he drifted through the darkness. This world appears normal at first glance; from the doorway he’s standing at, the room looks perfectly ordinary with its normal-looking interior design and normal-looking furniture. It even has a tasteful modern style to it. Oikawa’s quite relieved that he doesn’t have to deal with foreign centuries and cultures.

What’s not so normal is the fact that he’s balancing on one leg, due to his other leg being wrapped snugly in a cast, and resting his weight on a crutch. Oikawa checks his body in mild concern for other injuries and notices some abrasions on his arms and elbow.

Something else catches his eye though, and it comes in the form of a silver wedding band on his finger. His eyes light up instantly and he is quick to assume that whoever he had decided to share his life with is none other than his best friend. Who else could it be after all? Iwaizumi has been intimately involved in all his lives so he doesn’t think anything different of this world. He twists the band on his finger, grinning to himself, and hobbles out the room to explore the house in anticipation.

Before he has time for any sort of exploration, the doorbell rings and a jolt of expectation surges through his chest. Oikawa totters to the door as quickly as he can, the doorbell not sounding a second time even though he was rather slow. When he sees who it is, a bubble of mirth rises.

“Iwa-chan!”

“Hey,” he greets casually, letting himself in and toeing off his shoes in the entranceway. Jutting his chin at Oikawa’s cast, he asks, “How’s the leg?”

“It’s fine!” he chirps, making some space for Iwaizumi as he closes the door behind himself.

“Good,” he remarks, stepping into the house and leaving his jacket and backpack on a dining chair. He rolls up his sleeves neatly and Oikawa had been so eager to interact with his husband (again) but the absence of something shiny, something silver snatches the words from his mind, leaving only one thought.

_“Why isn’t there a wedding band on Iwa-chan’s finger too?”_

“Have you eaten?” he asks but Oikawa misses it, too preoccupied with wondering why there was no ring hanging around his neck as well. He examines his finger again, unmistakably bare, and notices that there isn’t even a tan line around the skin. It baffles him to no end, as Iwaizumi did not seem like the type who would hide these things, did he?

“Huh?” Oikawa says dumbly, returning to Iwaizumi when the silence stretched.

Iwaizumi takes that as his answer, automatically concluding that he had not gotten himself any dinner, which was typical. He sighs but it doesn’t follow with a chiding. Instead, he tells him, “Go sit down. I’ll make something for you. Fried rice okay?”

Oikawa barely nods before Iwaizumi disappears into the kitchen and promptly banishes him from the kitchen, claiming that he would make things inconvenient with his bumbling and general clumsiness. He stands one-legged in his living room, befuddlement taken to a whole new level as he attempts to read the mixed signals he was getting.

Iwaizumi is apparently not his husband, yet he’s behaving like the perfect embodiment of one (a heavily-biased claim), with his display of such domestic concern. Refusing to believe that this is true, Oikawa searches the living room for anything that might refute his hypothesis. He catches sight of the pictures displayed along the TV console and limps over apprehensively to pick one up.

Any glimmer of hope is dashed when instead of gazing at a lovely picture of his best-friend-cum-husband and himself, he’s gawking at an image of himself, accompanied by an unrecognizable lady: beautiful, with striking dark-brown eyes and wavy locks.

She appears in every picture he picks up, like a permanent fixture in his life, and his heart drops to his stomach. It completely dawns on him then, that this is not _their_ marriage, this is not _their_ house and this is not _their_ life. His belongs to this…this stranger, who would have been a perfect match for virtually anyone else. Oikawa cannot fathom how he could have strayed so far.

He takes pity on the Oikawa of this reality but he also feels a sorrow that stems from first-hand experience. Could this be his life if he ever gives up on confessing? Though even if he does, Oikawa could not imagine giving himself up to someone else, knowing that he could never truly give wholeheartedly. The ring suddenly feels heavy on his hand, like a burden he wants to be rid of.

Feeling like an outsider in his own house, Oikawa retreats to the kitchen despite Iwaizumi’s orders, seeking out a sense of familiarity only he provides.

“I told you to wait outside,” the man says, looking over his shoulder to see Oikawa hobbling in.

“I’m bored,” he responds mechanically, hoisting himself up on the high stool at the island.

“Fine, just sit there then. Don’t want you crashing into stuff,” Iwaizumi allows, returning to his preparation. He hasn’t started cooking yet, ingredients ranging from chicken cubes to carrots to garlic laid out on the counter but not sliced nor peeled.

Oikawa settles with watching him work, opening cupboards and measuring cups of rice enough for the two of them. He stares forlornly, trying to figure out how Iwaizumi could be so close yet so far from him. How is the “him” of this world okay with this? To have Iwaizumi care for him like a spouse coming home early from work, knowing that in truth, it’s nothing like that.

“Don’t you have work Iwa-chan?” he asks just to break the silence. It’s not always safe to leave himself to his thoughts.

“I took half a day off,” he says, followed by a pause. “Someone has to watch you.”

Oikawa almost laughs bitterly at that. “Thought that’d be my wife.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t catch the hint of sarcasm and answers, “If she hadn’t gone on a business trip halfway across the planet, it would be.”

The setter (is he still one in this reality?) registers the nugget of information and can’t say he’s surprised. She looks like someone capable. Oikawa doesn’t wish to jump to conclusions but he briefly thinks about the fact that she had gone ahead with a work trip time zones away when her husband has been involved in an evidently serious accident.

“So you stood in for her?” he blurts before he realizes how it could be misconstrued. Attempting to make light of it, he adds, “Always the thoughtful one.”

“You’d make a fuss if I don’t,” he retorts and hesitates, a continuation lingering on the tip of his tongue. “This is partly my fault anyway so…”

“How’s it your fault?” Oikawa follows immediately, voice lilting in curiosity. “It was an accident.”

Iwaizumi sighs, shoulders rising then falling, and turns on his heel to face Oikawa. There is remorse written across his features as he adds, “Which could have been prevented if I had pulled you back in time.”

How he had ended up in this state was the least of his worries since the revelation and now that they were on this topic, Oikawa speculates that he was likely involved in a minor car accident. He understands what it’s like to encounter a mishap, with being struck by lightning and all, but he seemed fine and was being taken care of so he doesn’t hang onto the details too much. Iwaizumi seems to take it to heart so Oikawa tries to inject a bit of humour to cheer him up.

“Oh…well, at least I don’t have to go work for a few weeks,” he teases half-heartedly.

“Don’t joke about it,” Iwaizumi scolds softly, eyebrows knitting into an endearing frown. “You have no idea how worried I was.”

Okay, so teasing backfired. But Oikawa does know how worried he was. Evidently worried enough to take half a day off to check on him, to cook for him, whereas his wife, the one person he should have the highest probability of meeting in this world, went ahead with her business trip. He doesn’t want to be pointing fingers and even if he did, it would be at Iwaizumi to ask him why they were not anything more when it feels like they should be.

“Sorry,” he apologizes meekly. “I’m okay now, as you can see.”

He flaps his arms to prove his point and cocks his head when Iwaizumi stares at him unblinkingly, eyes trained on a spot above his eye.

“Oikawa, your wound is bleeding,” he says quietly, controlled. “Come on, I’ll help you change your dressing.”

Naturally, he lifts a hand to touch his temple, but Iwaizumi catches a hold of his wrist.

“Don’t touch it. I’ll be back soon.”

Iwaizumi is an efficient caretaker. Soon enough, he has Oikawa seated still on the high stool, medicine and other supplies ready on the island. He works carefully, almost tenderly, and Oikawa’s chest stings as much as the bleeding wound on his head does.

“How’s Kana?” Iwaizumi asks conversationally, still focused on his task.

“Uhh…” he trails off awkwardly, unable to fabricate an answer with Iwaizumi’s fingers brushing against his skin. He’s guessing Kana is his wife’s name?

“You didn’t text her?” he questions, throwing him a dirty look. “Sheesh, at least text your wife.”

“She didn’t text me either. And I’m the one in a cast.”

He doesn’t know that for certain but somehow blurted it, his tone petulant.

“Don’t be a dick. You know she’s busy.”

“So are you.”

He really hadn’t meant to say that as well so perhaps “he” has some repressed feelings he’d like to relieve. Iwaizumi doesn’t reply to that, lips tensing into a thin line, so Oikawa opts to remain silent, lest he makes this more awkward.

He chooses to survey his surroundings, eyes skimming everywhere but Iwaizumi’s concentrated look. The kitchen is of the same style as the room he was first in, everything is either wood or marble and has a light colour scheme. It’s all so _bright_. Oikawa should be happy that he lived in such a warm, inviting and chic house but he feels foreign in this place and it isn’t because he’s from a different reality. It’s more than just aesthetics, it’s the way it makes him feel out of place, like it’s missing a major part of him.

If this were his and Iwaizumi’s house, it’d be less stylish but more practical. There would be more neutral colours, fewer decorations hanging around the house and maybe a few plants sitting on the windowsill. It’d have a balance of his and Iwaizumi’s tastes and it’d feel like home; Iwa-chan already feels like home.

Oikawa eventually settles his wandering gaze on the fridge door, where a couple of magnets and pictures are stuck on it. He spots one depicting him and his pretty wife against a field of flowers. Looks like the lavender fields in Furano. She’s smiling sweetly, head slightly tilted to rest against his. Oikawa wrinkles his nose.

“When’s your next appointment?” comes Iwaizumi’s voice, bringing him back to the moment.

There’s a pause before Oikawa makes up some random day, “Next Wednesday afternoon.”

“You want me to come with?” he offers.

“Do you want to?” he returns, sounding expectant.

Iwaizumi’s forehead creases, like he’s thinking about it.

“I can try switching my shift with Sawamura at the station. I’ll let you know.”

At this point, Oikawa cannot tolerate the bizarreness of this reality. If they were just friends, Iwaizumi was treating him excessively well and Oikawa refused to believe it was driven by guilt alone, but something was stopping him from acknowledging what else there is. He needed to find out why they were denying themselves the chance to be true to themselves. He was married, that much is cast in stone, but how could they still live like it didn’t affect them as much as it does? Oikawa honestly cannot fathom how they could give up something phenomenally better to live in this façade.

It’s gnawing at his insides to watch how Iwaizumi is showing him how important he is with his words and actions. He doesn’t have to do this. He could have texted him instead of paying a visit. His injuries might have inconvenienced him, but Oikawa’s a grown adult, he could take care of himself. He doesn’t have to be so remorseful over the accident. An accident is as unintentional as it sounds, there’s no need to beat himself over it. He doesn’t have to look so fond, doesn’t have to touch him so tenderly.

He doesn’t have to hold back.

And yet here they are.

Iwaizumi plasters the new piece of gauze onto his wound and sticks it securely in place.

“There,” he declares, packing up the supplies.

“You’re so nice to me Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says faintly, forehead still tingling from his touch, and before he can regret it, “It’s not all guilt right? You care about me too right?”

The medicine box shuts with a click as Iwaizumi jerks up to look at Oikawa in surprise. The air stills and something palpable ignites in the space between them. When Iwaizumi sees the expectation in his eyes, he averts his gaze, wanting to avoid this conversation. It never ends well for either of them and it always gets swept under the rug until someone crosses a line. Iwaizumi decides he won’t be the one who encourages that.

“Of course I do,” he answers as-a-matter-of-factly, subduing his expression into a neutral one. “We’re friends.”

“You know what I mean,” Oikawa insists, tone growing more assertive. He can tell Iwaizumi is being evasive and he was not about to dance around the flame any longer.

“Oikawa, don’t,” Iwaizumi warns, a force against Oikawa’s will.

“Why not?” he challenges, voice barely audible.

It’s a tug of war, a game of endurance where no matter who emerges victorious, both will suffer burns and blisters.

Iwaizumi swallows and can’t bring his eyes up to meet Oikawa’s when he murmurs, “It’s not right…”

To Oikawa, it sounds like an excuse. There’s conflict swimming in Iwaizumi’s green irises as he struggles with what’s right and wrong. He’s made his choice a long time ago and Oikawa has made his. But somehow, they always end up this grey area. Regardless, he’s cognizant of the potential disaster surrounding their circumstances like a ticking time bomb, so he tries to keep it in line, to keep _himself_ in line. It takes a lot, but it keeps things stable.

Iwaizumi is honourable but alas, Oikawa isn’t. And what the former tries to stabilize, the latter wants to fray.

“And lying to ourselves each day is?” Oikawa refutes quietly, leaning into Iwaizumi. “We both know the answer to that. Right?”

It’s bad enough that Iwaizumi doesn’t pull away. It’s worse when he does know the answer to that and it’s becoming rather compelling. It takes a lot to keep things stable, and at some point, there won’t be anything left. Iwaizumi finds it more difficult to do what’s right, when he has to watch the person he cannot have be with someone who he knows is not right for him, when Oikawa himself sends him mixed signals but never dares to take the final step.

Today though, he takes one on the dangerous path to redemption.

It begins with a kiss, slow and chaste though the act itself is nothing but. The second their lips meet draws a shuddering breath from Iwaizumi, who is too far gone by now not to relish in the way Oikawa’s mouth opens and closes over his. His heart hammers against his chest with how much he’s wanted this, with how _good_ this feels. Temptation is a one-way road to sin but god, it brings with it the most visceral type of pleasure. For Oikawa, the ring lies forgotten on his finger, a reminder of a mistake that will haunt him later.

He angles his head and slots his lips between Iwaizumi’s, heat creeping up his neck. His hand comes up to cradle Iwaizumi’s jaw and he swallows the groan that escapes from his mouth. They kiss languidly for there’s nothing to rush for, all the while knowing in the foggy recesses of their minds that this should not feel like it’s the missing piece. But it does and it’s clear as day that they both want this, this _thing_ between them, in whatever form it comes in.

The kiss breaks when they part for air, foreheads resting against each other’s and chests heaving from the rush of emotions.

“Why aren’t we together?” Oikawa breathes, uttering the words into the tiny space between them. It’s a question for Iwaizumi as much as it is for himself.

Gradually, the high recedes and as the realization of what they’ve done sinks in, Iwaizumi shuts his eyes and sighs. He withdraws from Oikawa and when their eyes meet again, his are filled with remorse. Oikawa wishes he wouldn’t look at him like that, like everything about this was a mistake. And if it was and someone had to be sorry, it should be him.

“You know why,” he says softly, tiredly. He has been fighting this for so long and for so hard and this feels like no victory. “Don’t do this to Kana. Don’t do this to me.”

It cuts through Oikawa like a knife to hear his words sound like a plea. He can only stare back at him with his own sorry gaze, all the while knowing that he is helpless as a temporary existence in this reality. At the end of it all, he wants what he wants but the price is not for him to pay.

* * *

Oikawa loses track of when he travels, thankful that at the very least, it happens mostly when he’s asleep or alone. It’d be weird and troublesome to explain to witnesses that he had suddenly lost consciousness because his soul decided it was a good time to explore the world of another “him”. A couple of days after travelling to that horrible universe, Oikawa travels again.

The light filters in from above and Oikawa feels his head throbbing. He blinks a few times to focus his vision, meeting the concerned looks of a circle of people. It looks and feels like some comedy cliché.

“Are you okay?” comes a fretful voice that Oikawa believes must be from the perpetrator of his demise. It’s Kindaichi.

“Ow…” is his succinct answer. The circle disperses as he sits up, cradling his head to dull the ache. He wrinkles his nose and winces, a sharp pain shooting through the bridge of his nose. Did the guy freaking spike him in the face?

“Alright,” a deep voice says with a definite huff. It’s the coach. “Oikawa, sit out for the rest of practice. The rest of you, back to drills.”

There’s some shuffling and squeaking of shoes as his teammates resume practice and for a moment, Oikawa thought he was going to be heartlessly left on the court with a pounding head, until he feels a hand settle on his shoulder. Tilting his head up, a pair of amber eyes stare down at him.

“Oikawa-kun, come on,” the girl says, supporting him by the elbow as he stands on his feet. She leads him to the benches, offering him his water bottle, and Oikawa guesses she’s the manager.

Not exactly in the mood to be making conversation, he elects to nurse his headache quietly. Naturally, he starts a search for Iwaizumi, who’s nowhere to be seen as he studies the players in turquoise and white jerseys. Even as he combs for a player donning the number “4”, he comes up short.

Until he catches a glimpse of someone in a black sleeveless shirt and basketball shorts across the court, the all-too-familiar head of spiky hair an instant giveaway. Frowning, Oikawa wonders why Iwaizumi was not wearing the Seijoh volleyball uniform, why he’s demonstrating the stance for a good receive to Kindaichi and why he seems like he’s taller than most.

“I don’t know what kind of relationship you two have,” the girl beside him quips, snapping him out of his reverie. “But just be careful. For the sake of the team and your face.”

She smirks at him but Oikawa’s mind is puzzled over the ambiguity of her words to supply a proper response. Getting up abruptly, she leaves Oikawa on the bench without another word except to cordially greet Iwaizumi with a “senpai” as he heads towards them.

With all the colourful experiences from the different worlds under his belt, this should not come as too much of a shock. Yet, Oikawa’s eyes still grow wide and his throat still goes dry when he sees Iwaizumi up close. First of all, he’s taller (even when he’s seated, Oikawa can tell). Secondly, his sleeveless Adidas shirt is showing off his biceps, which are more defined and larger than he remembers. Lastly, he’s older. He is definitely older.

“Are you okay?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at Oikawa’s blank face.

He’s fine actually, the throbbing already subsiding but his nose decides that it would be timely to have a nosebleed right about now.

Having frightened his coach and teammates again, Oikawa ends up in the school infirmary, a wad of tissue stuffed up his nose as Iwaizumi rummages through the cabinet for something Oikawa doesn’t care to know. He spends the idle time ogling at Iwaizumi’s arms, how the muscles move and how the tan skin disappears underneath the dri-fit material.

“What were you distracted with?” Iwaizumi asks with his back still facing Oikawa, releasing a soft “ah” when he finds what he was looking for (did they not hire nurses around here?).

“I was staring at you,” is his blasé confession. It’s too forward but somehow, it doesn’t feel wrong.

Iwaizumi balks, throwing him a pointed look. “How can you say that with such a straight face?”

There’s no bite to his words and he’s not even asking because he doesn’t know the answer to it. It’s a rhetorical question that tells Oikawa this is not out of the ordinary for them. So he merely shrugs.

The older of the two heaves a sigh, not in an exasperated way, but in the “what am I going to do with you” way. He wheels a chair to face Oikawa, who’s seated on the edge of the bed, and shines a flashlight into his eye. Oikawa sits awkwardly as Iwaizumi checks his vision for any signs of a concussion, noting how decidedly handsome he is as slightly older-Iwaizumi.

“You’re fine,” he announces and passes an ice pack for him to press against his forehead to reduce any swelling. “Take this.”

Slightly older-Iwaizumi seems put-together in this setting, which prompts Oikawa to investigate.

“Why do you look like you’ve done this before?” he asks nonchalantly, pulling out his bloodied tissue to toss it into the bin.

“I’m about to graduate with a sports science major,” he replies drily. “I’m expected to know these things.”

So, college-Iwaizumi it is. Well, college-Iwaizumi is delightfully tan, has a sharper jawline and probably a body to die for. Oikawa hopes his Iwaizumi will grow to look like this.

“You’re so old Iwa-chan,” Oikawa remarks. Despite not knowing much about this world, he finds that conversation between them flows easily. After all, the dynamics of their interaction here was not unfamiliar to him.

“I’m 21,” he retorts, narrowing his eyes at the junior. “And don’t call me ‘Iwa-chan’.”

Right, this was a senpai-kouhai relationship. It’s hard to tell if they’re involved in more personal ways as it seems platonic so far. Though…there is a flirtatious undertone in their exchanges, mostly from Oikawa but not met with rejection nor derision.

“Iwa…senpai?” Oikawa supplies tentatively, presuming this is likely what his other self addresses him. When Iwaizumi seems to accept that, Oikawa continues, “Aren’t you going back to practice?”

“Matsukawa can handle the rest,” he states and Oikawa feels bad for not even noticing Mattsun. Are they here together as student-coaches? What college are they from? He’s pretty sure he’s supposed to know the answers to these so Oikawa files them away for now.

“You’re going to stay with me?” he says with a lilt instead. “How sweet.”

“Not if you’re gonna be a little shit,” he quips.

“So if I behave, you’ll stay?”

There’s a tiny pause as they share a moment of victory and defeat.

“You’re insufferable.”

Oikawa chuckles, enjoying this world much more than the last.

“Anyway, don’t you have school?” he asks. Might as well take the opportunity to be acquainted with college-Iwaizumi.

“What’s with the questions?”

“We both have nothing to do.”

“Usually we do…” Iwaizumi says under his breath, averting his eyes for a second. “It’s my day off. I only come back here to coach you train wrecks when I’m free.”

“Hey, my sets are good!” Oikawa protests, letting go of Iwaizumi’s cryptic statement in favour of defending his setter skills (which he discovers is either exceptional or non-existent across the worlds; there is no in-between).

His feisty response elicits a smirk from Iwaizumi, who teases, “Only when you’re not getting distracted and taking a ball to the face.”

“I know a good body when I see one,” he says without thinking twice. He’s unapologetic. He’s learnt that sometimes the best way to deal with being teased is to just go with it and counter it with one of his own. He’s a veteran at it.

“Oikawa…” Iwaizumi warns.

“Iwa-senpai…” he mimics and puts on a mock glare.

“Don’t you have an off switch?”

“I have an on switch.”

Iwaizumi scoffs at that. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Oikawa can’t help but find that a bit dubious. His little statements harbour some degree of suggestiveness and Oikawa’s interest is piqued. It seems as if there’s more than meets the eye to their relationship. Maybe theirs isn’t strictly a senpai-kouhai one. Entertaining that idea awakens the butterflies in his stomach.

“Do you usually treat your juniors this way?” he asks inquisitively. “Or is it just me?”

Iwaizumi frowns. “Keep your voice down.”

 _Now_ Oikawa is determined to find out. With such secrecy, how could he not?

“You know, you might give people the wrong idea,” he says flippantly, referring to himself and the general public. “One might think that you’re into—”

He’s pulled by the wrist and dragged into a—is it a medicine storage room?—in one swift motion, dropping the ice pack onto the ground with a startled “oh!” as Iwaizumi kicks the door shut, hauling him into a corner. Medicine bottles rattle when Oikawa accidentally knocks his elbow against the shelf. Thankfully, they don’t make a mess and Iwaizumi catches him in time to prevent his back from hitting the wall.

“You were the one who came on to me like a horny teenager from the start,” Iwaizumi whispers fiercely despite no one being within earshot.

It takes Oikawa a couple of moments to register that when he’s still reeling from being manhandled out of the blue. When he lets it sink in, his mind goes, “oh, so they’re like _that_.” The thumping returns, except this time it’s his heart that’s hammering against his ribcage, knowing that they are _involved_ and it’s supposed to be a secret.

“ _You’re_ a horny teenager, locking us in a broom closet,” he retorts, straightening his back and puffing out his chest to match Iwaizumi’s height. It’s a good attempt but college-Iwaizumi is taller than first-year Oikawa in this world, damn him.

“This is a storage room,” Iwaizumi corrects redundantly. “And I’m not a teenager.”

“Details,” Oikawa says with a dismissive turn of his head.

An awkward silence settles over them as they engage in a spontaneous staring contest, challenging glints in their eyes. The atmosphere is charged with tension and it’s the kind that sends shivers raking through their bodies. Nothing happens as both wait for the other to start something, to break the tautness of the imaginary rope.

Eventually, it’s Iwaizumi who lets go. Except in the wrong direction. In a completely anti-climactic way, he inhales sharply and steps back, putting space between them.

“If you’re feeling better, you should head home,” he says, acting all gentlemanly when he doesn’t have to, when Oikawa doesn’t want him to, when he himself would rather be doing something else entirely.

The ensuing disappointment feels as if a bucket of ice has been poured over his head.

“What’s the rush?” he asks defiantly. “You got a girlfriend to run off to?”

“What? No, I don’t even—”

“A boyfriend then?”

“Don’t get coy with me,” Iwaizumi scolds, wondering why Oikawa would even ask that when he knows they’re involved. Although it isn’t official, he should know better than to think he would be with someone else. Granted, whatever that’s going on between them could very well be a fling, given that being involved in such a hush-hush relationship provided a thrill. Frankly though, Iwaizumi likes Oikawa more than he’d like to admit…still, he should know his place when talking to his senior.

“Do I have to remind you that I am your senior—”

“You can show me instead,” Oikawa declares brazenly. Stepping back into Iwaizumi’s space, he repeats, “Show me.”

He’s too caught up in the heat of the moment to back down now. And Iwaizumi is too turned on by his boldness to not get carried away.

With a defeated sigh and a few strides that has Oikawa crowded against the wall, Iwaizumi laments, “You are going to get me expelled.”

“You don’t even go here,” he whispers back.

There’s nothing graceful about the kiss that follows. It’s eager and messy, mouths pressed greedily against each other’s and parting for a fraction of a second before meeting again. Iwaizumi closes in on Oikawa, one hand supporting them against the wall and the other sliding under the hem of his shirt, hiking it up. The setter doesn’t even realize the moans escaping from his mouth, too heady when Iwaizumi tickles his earlobe with ragged breaths and nibbles on the patch of sensitive skin beneath his ear. Even when rational thought is a concept that escapes further, he still has the decency not the leave marks in conspicuous places.

Not that it’s something Oikawa can appreciate now. He’s far too drunk on how Iwaizumi’s touches set his nerves ablaze to care, too amazed that he’s making out with college-Iwaizumi no less. Despite an impaired judgement caused by his student-coach’s hot mouth and deft fingers, Oikawa’s curious to how his high school freshman-self managed to land into such a situation with college-Iwaizumi. He’s 16 years old; he’s not supposed to hook up with college guys or know how to kiss like that…or maybe the last part was just him projecting his innermost desires?

He’s stopped keeping count the number of times he’s fantasized about such secret, after-practice escapades. It’s when the adrenaline from landing impeccable serve after serve and setting to his ace with pinpoint accuracy is still coursing through his veins and when everyone has left and it’s just shirtless Iwaizumi, him and his unbridled desire.

In this world and in this exact moment, he feels like a jack-in-a-box, having sprung out of his confines to taste the sweet air. There’s more to Iwaizumi he wants to taste besides his mouth. Oikawa lifts a leg to hook an ankle over the back of Iwaizumi’s knee, effectively giving the student-coach more area to work with. Instinctively, Iwaizumi moves into the space Oikawa’s created, pressing their hips together and groaning when the friction sends another jolt up his spine.

God, this is the stuff of his dreams, for Iwaizumi to be just as intense, just as impatient, and a little more than unrestrained. He’s thought about having Iwaizumi’s mouth on his, tongue velvet against his, fingers burning a trail on his skin. Sometimes it happens in the quiet locker room, sometimes in the clubroom and once in the showers.

Admittedly, this is not his life, but this is as close to that as he can get.

Here, he doesn’t have a care in the world. No shame to nurse, no one to catch them, no “wife” to—

“Wait wait wait,” Oikawa gasps, pushing Iwaizumi off himself, lips smacking audibly as the kiss breaks. His heart is beating a mile a minute as he asks breathlessly, the memory of a bleaker life a jarring thought in his mind, “This is okay right? We’re allowed to do this right?”

Iwaizumi blinks, bewildered by the interruption and Oikawa’s unexpected line of questions. Why is he having qualms now? They aren’t new to this.

“What?” he says distractedly and tears his gaze away from Oikawa’s kiss-swollen lips. “I guess. I mean—the age of consent is 16 so technically this is legal—”

Oikawa tunes him out the moment he realizes Iwaizumi is on a different wavelength than he is. The legality of their situation is hardly what he meant. To be honest, he couldn’t care less if this was illegal. Whether they _can_ do this or not has nothing to do with it being permissible by law.

He’s fretting over a horror that does not transcend into this reality and here his ace is, confirming the fact that _he’s of consenting age_. Oikawa’s torn between wanting to laugh or cry so he chooses neither and loses himself into the mindless indulgence instead.

“Never mind,” he dismisses, crashing their lips together.

* * *

It’s pitch black. Oikawa wonders if he’s somehow back home, struck by some kind of temporary blindness from travelling through the void. He dismisses the idea in the end, for the place feels too musty to be home. In the darkness, he can hear his breathing and when he concentrates, there’s a distant sound of water droplets. Oikawa swivels on his heels and breathes a sigh of relief when he spots a brightness in the distance. Squinting his eyes, it looks like the light is dancing.

Without wasting time, Oikawa advances towards it, frowning when his steps make little wet sounds against the ground. Wherever he is, it’s rather cold so he hugs his arms, surprised to discover that he’s wearing a cloak of sorts. It’s soft to the touch though he can’t figure out what kind of material it is. Nevertheless, he can’t wait to get out this increasingly creepy place, because the more he walks, the more he feels like he’s being watched.

As Oikawa approaches the light, it finally reveals that he’s in a cave, surrounded by rocky surfaces and stalactites hanging off the ceiling. The lights turns out to be a campfire, and by it, a figure is putting on his iron arm plate, back towards him. Now that looks vaguely familiar.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa calls tentatively though he’s 99% sure that’s Iwaizumi cosplaying some medieval warrior.

His reaction is not something he expected. Iwaizumi whips around so fast, metal armour clanking and broadsword pointing menacingly at Oikawa. But the minute he sees who it was, his shoulders relax and he stabs his sword into the soil, going back to putting on his other arm plate.

“What are you doing here?” he asks exasperatedly even though Oikawa has hardly said or done anything. He actually feels kind of offended.

“Why can’t I be here?” he deflects the question back.

“I told you to stop bothering me,” Iwaizumi says with a clipped voice. He sheaths his broadsword onto his back, adjusting the strap so that it rests comfortably, not sparing a single glance at Oikawa’s direction at all.

“That’s mean,” Oikawa manages, nonplussed with why Iwaizumi doesn’t seem to want him around and finds his mere presence tiresome. To further wound his pride, Iwaizumi ignores his complaint and takes off without another word.

It doesn’t deter Oikawa from trotting after him, part of him reluctant to remain in this stale place and part of him wanting to be wherever Iwaizumi is.

“Where are you going?” he asks, falling into step.

“To slay a giant,” he answers bluntly. Oikawa’s face twitches in surprise but reminds himself that this is supposedly normal.

Evidently he has travelled to a world of monsters and dragons. Suffice to say Iwaizumi is a knight-slash-warrior or something. On the other hand, he hasn’t figured out what kind of profession he has yet. His own clothes are rather strange, with what he can make out in this barely lit cave. He’s wearing a dark-coloured garment with golden linings that tapers off like a tailcoat, pristine white thigh-high boots and donning a black cloak that almost reaches the ground.

This could be interesting, regardless of Iwaizumi’s disposition towards him in this world. Fitting himself into his persona, Oikawa persists, “Let me go with you. I can help.”

Probably, he thinks.

“Yeah right, like you would,” Iwaizumi scoffs.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Oikawa demands with a pout, inquisitive and affronted.

Iwaizumi finally turns to look him straight in the eye.

“Because I thought demons don’t bother themselves with the trivial matters of mere humans,” he tells him candidly, a smirk playing on the corners of his lips to have turned his words against him. “That’s what you said.”

And then he reaches forward and pulls on his horn.

Oikawa feels his head bowing with the gentle tug and his eyes practically widen to the size of dinner plates. As Iwaizumi continues on his way out, Oikawa is rooted to the same spot, shell-shocked and hands coming up to scrabble at his newly-discovered appendages. His fingers close around two scaly horns protruding from his head and it’s the oddest sensation ever.

And did Iwaizumi also say… _demon_?

Oh god, will he ever get used to the absurdity of his circumstances? He needs a moment…buuut Iwaizumi is still walking away, disappearing around a corner.

“Iwa-chan!” he cries, running after him.

He catches up to him just as he’s stepping out of the cave, the sudden burst of light momentarily blinding him. He’s about to pester Iwaizumi and bemoan about his “condition” even though he knows nothing will come out of it. It’s a force of habit that’s impossible to break.

But before he can saddle Iwaizumi with another bout of unnecessary lamentation, Oikawa’s attention is stolen by the mesmerizing view outside the cave.

It’s a breath-taking plane of greenery scattered with giant trees and lush bushes. A lake sits in the middle of the field, its surface glittering and water clear as day. On his left stands a beautiful waterfall, not as monumental as some of Earth’s famous ones but nevertheless majestic by Oikawa’s standards. Above him, the sky is a vast expanse of blue and before him, the beauty of the view is unparalleled.

It seems like he’s stumbled upon yet a different world. It’s enthralling.

“Wow…” he breathes in awe.

“I thought you hated the light,” he hears Iwaizumi say, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

For a moment Oikawa thinks he might break out in blisters or start sizzling away in the sun but nothing happens. He’s still standing upright and his skin is as radiant as ever. Right, he’s a demon, not a vampire. Surely he’s formidable enough to take a little sun.

And okay…so he’s a demon. It’s starting to sink in. It’s the first time he’s not human and in all honesty, it shouldn’t come as too big of a surprise given that he’s travelled to a world where he knows for a fact aliens do exist. With the vastness of the multiverse and every possibility it brings, surely the probability of being “alien” would occur to him. So yeah, he could play this role.

Clearing his throat, Oikawa replies, “We may be creatures of the dark but we don’t _hate_ the light. And I certainly can appreciate the beauty of nature.”

He lets his eyes roam his surroundings again, drinking in the scene before him. He can hear the crashing of the water, creating splashes that ripple out into the other end of the lake, where the giant trees are mirrored in its peaceful surface.

Eyes lighting up with an idea, Oikawa scampers to the edge of the lake and kneels down, peeking his head out onto the surface. True enough, he can see his own reflection and a tiny gasp escapes his mouth. Irrefutably, there are two horns sitting on his head, ridged and sharp at the ends. Oikawa touches them with fascination, facing left and right to get a fuller view of his appearance. He’s not hideous at all, despite what the title “demon” connotes.

Oikawa must have looked like he was checking himself out, for Iwaizumi sighs exasperatedly and promptly stalks off.

Snapping out of his preoccupation, Oikawa scrambles to his feet to follow him.

“Iwa-chan! Wait up!”

“Are you seriously going to follow me?” Iwaizumi asks. “Haven’t you annoyed me enough last night?”

“Am I really that annoying?” he asks with genuine curiosity. The Iwaizumi of this world is gruffer and Oikawa’s beginning to wonder if their relationship was not…amiable.

“You can’t tell?” Iwaizumi says sarcastically.

“I can leave if you want me to.”

It’s hard not to sound hurt when Iwaizumi has been trying to get rid of him since he appeared. Perhaps they were enemies in this reality. They’re human and demon after all. The idea of it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

Iwaizumi sighs quietly, hoping Oikawa wouldn’t notice. He may be a nuisance at times, but his presence was not unwanted, as much as he’d hate to admit it. Interacting with an age-old, narcissistic demon with brusqueness and a pinch of sarcasm was more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything.

“I didn’t say you have to leave,” he says reluctantly, though it’s essentially what he’s been saying the whole time. “Do what you want, just don’t get in my way.”

Oikawa perks up considerably. Sounds like he has a soft spot and that’s enough to lift his mood.

“Okay!” he chirps, walking alongside Iwaizumi into the woods. He’s not keen on leaving this splendid field so soon but he supposes such places are commonplace in a world like this. Maybe they’d chance upon another one. Remembering what Iwaizumi said he was on his way to accomplish, Oikawa inquires, “So why are you going to kill this giant?”

“It’s been destroying villages,” he answers solemnly, stepping over an exposed root. “And judging by its patterns, mine’s likely to be next. I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Oh,” he murmurs, inadvertently glancing at the broadsword strapped across his back. Iwaizumi was a fighter. Suits him, he thinks. “Do you have any experience killing a giant?”

“No,” he admits but doesn’t sound any less determined.

“You might need my help then,” Oikawa offers enthusiastically. After all, he is a demon and demons have powers. “And I would help you.

“If you’re nice to me,” he adds, feeling gracious.

“You’re so shitty.”

“Excus—ahhh!!”

Squawking, Oikawa is unceremoniously hauled up by the ankle, leaving him hanging upside down and twirling idly as he struggles. In front of him, Iwaizumi laughs openly, slightly taken aback by Oikawa’s mishap but finding it hilarious anyway. His cloak drapes onto the ground, concealing part of his face as he continues spinning by the ankle.

“Help me down!” he exclaims in mortification, swiping at his cloak futilely.

Iwaizumi has the audacity to rest his weight on one leg, folding his arms to stare down at Oikawa, thoroughly entertained. Snarky, he says, “Why don’t you just use your own magic?”

Yes, what a wonderful idea. Except Oikawa, at his very core right now, is a human. And he has no clue how he’s supposed to activate his powers and start his magic-hocus pocus shit. Desperate and with the blood rushing to his head, he tries facing his palm at the rope around his ankle, tries waving it, but nothing happens to his chagrin.

“It’s not working,” he pouts.

“How is it not working?” Iwaizumi questions, growing confused.

“It just isn’t!”

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi finally goes up to him, drawing out a dagger and slicing the rope with it. It must be a faulty trap, as Oikawa is not hanging as high as he should be. Based on his experience, traps like these (which were obviously not meant for demons) could lift their victims 20 feet into the air.

“You know, for a demon king, you are really bad at this,” Iwaizumi tells him, unimpressed. “I’m surprised you manage the keep that throne of yours.”

Oikawa would be more interested in this conversation if he wasn’t hanging upside down, growing dizzier by the second.

“I mean, I’ve seen you vanquish an army of orcs without breaking a sweat,” he continues offhandedly. “What’s wrong with your magic this time?”

The rope breaks, eliciting a yelp from the demon when he plunges, but Iwaizumi catches him in time. He supports him by the shoulders, holding him against his chest as Oikawa takes a while to get the blood flowing back. It rushes to his cheeks as well, when he realizes the proximity between their faces. For all the big talk Iwaizumi was spouting, this doesn’t feel like he wants him anywhere else.

Coughing awkwardly, Iwaizumi helps Oikawa to his feet properly and consciously puts some distance between them.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa replies, dusting himself off and making a note that Iwaizumi had called him a “demon king”. This is convenient. “It’s just one of those days you know. We demons have our low days as well.”

It seems to work in providing an excuse for his little magic-conundrum as Iwaizumi doesn’t probe further. On the contrary, he’s hardly paying Oikawa much attention, eyes trained on something slightly to his left.

“Oikawa. Don’t move,” he instructs, taking careful steps towards the demon.

“What? What is it?” he demands, shoulders stiffening as he follows Iwaizumi’s line of sight to catch a glimpse something moving on his shoulder from his peripheral vision. With the hairs standing on his neck, Oikawa pleads pitifully, “Is it a bug? Please get if off me if it is.”

“Shh.”

“Iwa-chan…please treat me as a mere human and protect me,” he says shamelessly.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Iwaizumi tells him as he scoops up a creature in his palms. “It’s just a pyrausta.”

“A what?”

“Pyrausta,” he repeats, curling his fingers for the creature to crawl across lazily. “It’s one of the most rarely seen insects because of its camouflaging abilities. I’ve only ever seen it once.”

Oikawa leans in to study it more carefully, noting its scaled body and translucent wings. It’s scarcely the size of Iwaizumi’s palm, seemingly harmless as it roams across his hand. Naturally, it’s nothing Oikawa has ever seen before, with it resembling a cross-breed between a mini dragon and a butterfly.

For the benefit of the clueless demon king who looks on with incredulity, Iwaizumi explains, “Its wings take on a different colour depending on its surroundings or during its mating ritual. It’s also known to change them as a form of showing off and simply because they want to play. See?”

As if to prove a point, the pyrausta’s wings gradually change from translucent to yellow, darkening into orange before ending with a red hue at its tip.

“Ohhh…” Oikawa whispers in awe, admiring the ombré colours of its wings.

“Here,” Iwaizumi suddenly says, perching the creature on his index and middle finger and taking the back of Oikawa’s hand in his palm. Though somewhat unprepared, Oikawa lets Iwaizumi transfer the creature into his opened hand. He’s not a big fan of insects, but early years of accompanying Iwaizumi on his beetle expeditions has desensitized him to the fear of having them crawl over his hand. Oikawa chuckles when its long feelers skim across his fingers.

“Stunning right?” Iwaizumi asks as the pyrausta alters the colours of its wings to match Oikawa’s navy blue garment. More sombrely, he adds, “These things can sell for a fortune on the black market. Rich people like to keep them as ornaments.”

“Are you going to keep it then?” Oikawa asks, looking up at Iwaizumi with such child-like eyes that he blinks in surprise.

“No,” he says simply and watches the creature take off from Oikawa’s fingers. Like a form of gratitude, it makes it a point of putting on one last show with now stunningly iridescent wings, rainbow colours reflecting off its wings in the light. “They’re not meant for glass cages.”

“Hmm,” Oikawa hums thoughtfully. “A giant slayer with a heart. You’re as rare as they come too Iwa-chan. Maybe that’s why I’m so fascinated with you.”

Iwaizumi has gone quiet, an expression Oikawa can’t quite place as disapproval or dissonance settling on his face.

“…You’re going to get me in trouble one day,” he eventually says with an air of finality, continuing on his way through the forest.

“No I won’t,” Oikawa is quick to counter.

“You’re a demon. I’m a human. We’re not supposed to be this…” he trails off, searching for the right word to use and ultimately settling for one that neither encapsulates the amorphous nature of their relationship nor the unspoken depth of their emotions, “Friendly.”

The tenuous description only serves to confirm Oikawa’s suspicions that there’s more to it than meets the eye. Surely Iwaizumi would not be so yielding if they were really mortal enemies. Yet they’re travelling side by side like old partners on a journey. Even in a universe where Oikawa is certain is governed by some higher being who dictated that humans and demons were not supposed to be as close as they are, they have both managed to defy the odds. So yeah, “friendly” would be hardly the choice of word.

He’s actually rather impressed, for them to resist the natural order of things. They’re Hajime and Tooru after all. At the heart of it all, they are their souls, and not the labels the universe has branded them with. But it does get him to muse over how a relationship between a human and a demon would pan out. It would be strange and wrought with challenges, but then again, aren’t all their lives are? This world simply presented them in a different form. And it’s funny; even in the same universe, they are worlds apart.

“Well,” he starts allusively. “We don’t hate all humans. Like you for example.”

“I’m pretty sure that only applies to you. The others would not hesitate to tear me apart,” he opposes, referring to Oikawa’s demon friends and subjects.

“No, as demon king, it extends to all my underlings,” Oikawa counters haughtily. “Consider yourself blessed.”

“Or cursed.”

“Oh how you jest,” he banters, taking it in his stride.

“Don’t you have demon king stuff to do?” Iwaizumi brings up, giving him a pointed look. “Like terrorize griffins or order your minions around?”

“I do much more than that alright,” Oikawa is affronted on his other self’s behalf. “I have an underworld to run. But since I’m so magnanimous, I’ve decided to grace you with my precious time and presence.”

“You do realize I didn’t ask you to right,” Iwaizumi says drily.

“You don’t have to. I know—gyahh!”

Iwaizumi is already rolling his eyes when Oikawa falls face-first into the dirt, having tripped over an exposed root because he clearly doesn’t know how to act like the charming demon king he presumably is.

“Why are you so clumsy,” he asks rhetorically as Oikawa flips himself over with a petulant pout. Eyeing the offending root, he kicks at it for subjecting him to another bout of embarrassment, pulling out a lump of fruit with it.

“Why is there a random fruit growing in the middle of nowhere,” Oikawa grumbles.

“Wait a minute,” Iwaizumi interjects, kneeling to inspect the uprooted plant. “It’s not a fruit. It’s a tonic.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Oikawa says, clueless as to why Iwaizumi speaks about it with a sense of awe.

“It not only has restorative abilities, it also doubles up as an antidote for certain types of venom, for example that of serpents,” he explains.

“Aren’t I your lucky charm then,” Oikawa says humourlessly, brushing the dirt off his palms. “Are you going to take it?”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi pipes up, rummaging through his rucksack for something to contain it. “But I can’t just take it like that. It’s an antidote for venom but it’s also poisonous. Ironic as it is, the mere contact with it will melt the skin off my—Oikawa what the hell—”

But it’s a little belated, for Oikawa has gone ahead to completely remove the tonic from the dirt with his bare hands no less. His skin does not melt off and the tonic sits innocuously in his eternally pristine hands. He meets Iwaizumi’s shocked expression with an innocent one.

“Right…you’re a demon,” the warrior reminds himself, sighing at his own forgetfulness and getting worried for no good reason. “This has no effect on you.”

Unexpectedly pleased, Oikawa offers, “I could safe keep it for you.”

“I don’t think so,” Iwaizumi declines on reflex, getting up to his feet and helping Oikawa up.

“What? You don’t trust me?” he dares, rolling the item in his hand.

“That thing can literally liquefy my insides upon physical contact,” he points out as-a-matter-of-factly. It’s not that he didn’t trust him but…leaving it in a demon’s hands is a risk. Especially when said demon was not the most merciful. That said, Iwaizumi doesn’t truly believe Oikawa would harm him. (Sometimes, he thinks about how vulnerable he is to Oikawa, how he could hold the tip of a dagger against his beating heart and he wouldn’t so much as flinch, that it makes him build up his walls a little higher.)

The demon king doesn’t hide his frown, hurt flashing in his eyes when he reads between the lines.

“You really think I’d hang around you all this time just to finish you off with a plant?”

It does sound stupid, but it’s too late to retract his words. Iwaizumi shrugs and says flippantly, “Maybe you’re waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Who knows?”

“Believe me Iwa-chan, if I wanted to kill you, I would have by now,” he states, pocketing the item and brushes past him.

Iwaizumi leaves it at that. If he dies by Oikawa’s hands, then he dies. It would be a trivial affair. For now, they carry on with their journey, figures of black and white amidst a sea of green.

After a few minutes of walking in relative silence, Iwaizumi senses something in the distance. It’s black smoke billowing from a campfire, a common sight in the woods but for some reason, it makes the hairs on his nape bristle, instinct kicking in.

Nothing is out of the ordinary yet, but Iwaizumi treads carefully.

“Hey, it’s a campsite,” Oikawa says, when they are near enough to notice the source of the smoke and multiple tents erected in a clearing. There doesn’t seem to be anyone at home.

Iwaizumi surveys the area and begins to realize why something doesn’t sit right with him. The purple streaks on the tents, the white eagle on the flag—it’s none other than Shiratorizawa.

There’s nothing for him to be afraid of. It’s his companion who should be concerned, given that Shiratorizawa is the strongest clan of demon hunters. But when Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa, he’s blissfully oblivious and even a little taken with one of their weapons.

It’s a bunch of thick wooden sticks sharpened at the tips and secured with thick rope around a rock to ensure that the razor-sharp edges point outwards where it will undoubtedly shred its unfortunate victim’s skin. It’s drenched with bright, viscous liquid, left out on a wooden plank for the liquid to seep thoroughly into its bark. Oikawa’s almost ready to poke it out of pure curiosity, unaware of how anything in this campsite is a potential threat, until Iwaizumi strides over to him to catch his wrist hastily.

“Don’t touch that,” he warns.

“Huh?” Oikawa says lamely, a bit puzzled over Iwaizumi’s grave expression. “What is it?”

“We have to go,” he tells him in lieu of an answer, leading Oikawa away by the wrist, and tries not to dwell on the fact that he’s protecting a demon.

“What’s going on?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve stumbled upon Shiratorizawa’s campsite,” he highlights and when Oikawa only makes an “oh” with his mouth without an inkling of how this could go down badly, Iwaizumi adds in disbelief, “You know, Shiratorizawa the most renowned clan of demon hunters?”

That, Oikawa makes a face at. Trust Shiratorizawa to still be his nemesis in a different plane of existence. Ugh.

“How dangerous can they be?” Oikawa says conceitedly. “They’re still humans right?”

Iwaizumi looks at him like he’s grown an extra horn. “Do you not remember the time they actually captured you and almost tortured you into—”

An arrow cuts his words off mid-air, whizzing past the space between their faces and tearing through the bark of the tree it strikes. The both of them have less than a second to stare at each other in stunned silence before someone shouts from a distance.

“Shit! I almost got him!”

“Time to go,” Iwaizumi doesn’t waste another second to pull Oikawa away, sprinting deeper into the dense forest.

“Hold up, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa yells as he struggles to keep up with his pace. “Why are they trying to kill me?!”

“Oh I don’t know Oikawa,” he still manages to say sarcastically as he dodges low-hanging branches. “Maybe because you’re the demon king and they have you on their hit list since the beginning of time?”

“What did I even—”

“There he is!” another voice shouts and another arrow flies past them, narrowly missing Oikawa’s left shoulder.

Iwaizumi halts abruptly, spinning around and digging out something that looks like produce from his rucksack. Oikawa has half a mind to scream at him for thinking about eating now until he tears the covering off the item, exposing the brown layer underneath. He hurls it in the direction of their pursuers and takes off again, knowing for sure that it’d buy them some time.

Oikawa cranes his neck to watch it roll on the ground before releasing smoke from its tip.

“Agh, it stinks!”

“Cover your noses! Don’t let him fool you!”

“This way!” Iwaizumi tells him, sliding down a steep ravine and pulling Oikawa down with him.

By the time they’re pressed chest to chest against the column of the ravine, they’re panting heavily, hearts beating right out of their chests from the unexpected pursuit. Iwaizumi has his hands on Oikawa’s elbows, supporting him, and the demon king looks back at him in incredulity.

Time is not on their side when above them, the sounds of their attackers are approaching.

“Scour the area. And be careful. He’s not alone,” a deep voice resounds.

Iwaizumi pins Oikawa with a sharp stare.

“You have to go now!” he whispers fiercely.

“Where?!” he cries helplessly. They’re hiding out in a ravine, his clothes are all ruined and fucking Ushiwaka is out to kill him. It doesn’t seem like he has anywhere to run.

“I don’t know!” Iwaizumi says heatedly. “Just teleport out of here or something!”

“How?!”

“What do you mean how?!”

Oikawa glares at him pointedly, a non-verbal reminder of how he’s having some trouble with his magic today. He’s actually trying to activate his magical powers by repeating random words and spells he’s heard when watching Harry Potter but it’s a disappointing effort. He’s still here and the footsteps are imminent.

“Shit,” Iwaizumi curses. He looks around and spots an opening in the wall of the ravine, concealed by a fallen tree above their heads, and tugs Oikawa towards it. “Hide in here.”

When Oikawa is secure, Iwaizumi gives the hiding spot a once-over to ensure he’s well-hidden before turning on his heel to leave. Oikawa catches his arm anxiously, eyebrows furrowed in distress.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Getting them off your trail,” he says simply, the determined glint in his dark green eyes a question Oikawa still does not have the answer to. “Try to get away as soon as you can.”

“What about you?” he breathes.

“I’ll manage.”

Iwaizumi is really an enigma. He claims they’re not supposed to be friends yet he’s going out of his way to keep him safe. Oikawa is not surprised the demon king falls for the knight, even if he is a mere human.

“Will I see you again?” he asks, despite knowing the answer to that.

Iwaizumi lets out a humourless chuckle. “I’m sure you will. You always know where to find me.”

His smirk is the last thing he sees before Iwaizumi climbs out, venturing into enemy territory. A human protecting a demon. How laughable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this was me indulging in all my au fantasies so if you enjoyed that too, yay!! I promise the plot gets back on track in the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s about a week until he travels again. It’s the longest he went without being rudely transported to another universe, leaving his body soulless on the floor. During that week, his life carries on normally. He goes to school with Iwa-chan, has classes in the classroom next to his, has lunch with him, Makki and Mattsun, puts in his 110% effort into volleyball practice and is (un)fortunate enough to witness Iwaizumi getting confessed to at the back of the school.

Such incidents are few and far between. Iwaizumi is not remarkably handsome or charming or popular with the ladies. And that’s for the better, Oikawa thinks selfishly. More of Iwaizumi for himself then. He wants Iwaizumi’s time and attention and he has that now. But there are rare instances where his possession of these are threatened by girls who think they have a chance with him, as is the case when he looks on at the two figures from the third floor of the school building.

Perhaps this is a world where Iwaizumi gets a girlfriend in high school and that’s the end of the line for him, he thinks sullenly. Maybe he’s the sad sop who can’t even keep his friend, let alone have his feelings requited. But then Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, mouth moving over words he cannot hear, and the girl bows politely before scuttling away.

Oikawa’s chest stops twisting. He watches as Iwaizumi sighs, stuffs his hands into his pockets and makes his way back to the building, probably to meet him so they can walk home together. As much as he feels horrible over his selfishness, he cannot help but think: _“Good.”_

He’s never wanted something he cannot have this much.

The multiverse mocks him by showing him that in a different world, he has what he wants, and then some more.

After a week of zero incidents and guessing that maybe the universe-hopping has stopped, Oikawa is thrown into yet another reality, taking a little more time to ease into the new surroundings. There’s nothing much to see though, because there’s only wood flooring and a pair of his own Asics shoes. It’s also because his vision is obscured by the towel draped over his head, doing little to muffle the sounds of clappers and noisy chattering around him.

A loud electronic beep snaps him into this reality and he pulls down his towel, revealing the all too familiar sight of a volleyball court. Sucking in a breath, Oikawa holds it in as he takes in the filled spectator stands and the sea of red and white uniforms. He’s in the middle of a game and he can’t even relish in the moment for someone claps him firmly on the back, making him gasp.

It’s Nekoma’s Kuroo Tetsurou, Oikawa realizes belatedly, who’s smirking at him and donning the unmistakable red uniform of the Japanese men’s national volleyball team. Oikawa stares at his retreating figure with wide eyes and an opened mouth before hastily looking down to see himself wearing the exact same uniform, except his has the number “14” on it.

The huge banner above their heads spells out “Asian Championships”. On the other side of the court, it’s the Vietnamese players. The score currently sits at 2-1 in Japan’s favour. If they win this set, they advance to the next round. At halftime, they’re leading by 5 points.

“Come on Oikawa!” someone else exclaims, voice too near his ear. Oikawa doesn’t even need to turn to know that it belongs to Bokuto Koutarou.

He lets himself be pulled onto the court as the next half of the game begins and oh my god, Ushijima Wakatoshi is already on the court, standing tall and looking concentrated. Oikawa takes his position as Kuroo prepares to serve and does a quick scan of his side of the court. Besides Ushiwaka, Bokuto and Kuroo, he recognizes Karasuno’s Sawamura and Nishinoya.

These were his national teammates? It’s…intense.

Inadvertently, Oikawa looks around in search for a certain someone, hoping that he could share the international stage with his partner and his ace in this already-awesome world. He searches for a dark and spiky-haired wing spiker, preferably sporting the same red uniform, but he doesn’t spot him in the sidelines. Disappointment knots in his belly but there is no time to wallow as Kuroo’s serve creates a resounding smack against his palm.

Unlike the first time he travelled when he felt as if he was trapped in someone else’s body, Oikawa is hyperaware of each moment. He reads his teammates with pinpoint accuracy and soaks in the victory of each score and the cheering of the crowd. Every toss, every serve, every spike, he feels each motion strongly. The thrill of being in the international arena, albeit in a reality not his own, rushes through his veins and from his fingertips into a perfect toss, a powerful serve.

When they’ve racked up 19 points against 15, another buzz signals a member change from their side. Oikawa wipes away the sweat on his upper lip, looking over to the sidelines to see who’s switching with Sawamura.

It snatches all the air from his lungs to see _his_ ace, even though he’s already panting. Iwaizumi passes the paddle with Sawamura’s number on it and gives his teammate a confident smile before stepping onto the court. Oikawa, previously so intimidating, stands rooted to the floor red-faced not just due to the game and heart hammering against his ribcage.

Iwaizumi’s uniform fits him perfectly, the number “15” printed proudly on the front. Oikawa wonders how he could have missed him when he looks like he was made to wear this uniform, a wing spiker to be feared. Knowing that Iwaizumi is indeed standing on the same court and on the same side with him, this world just became a hundred times better.

The spiker strides towards him, amused though a little confused over Oikawa’s evident astonishment. He walks past Oikawa to take his position beside Ushiwaka, but not before saying for his ears only, “Set for me like always yeah?”

The exhilaration lights a fire in him that lasts till the end of the game.

After finishing the set with an 8-point lead, the team prepares to leave the stadium with victorious smiles and full hearts. Especially Oikawa, who just had his virgin experience playing on the international arena. The ecstasy was inexplicable and to have Iwaizumi spike his tosses impeccably, breaking through the opponent’s blocks with terrifying power, was something he took immense gratification from.

He fishes out his track suit (the sight of the ironed-on Japanese flag creating cartwheels in his stomach), a silly smile hanging on his lips.

“So, shall we get ourselves a good dinner to celebrate our first win?” Kuroo asks the team easily.

“Yes!!!” Bokuto exclaims, the excitement from the game not receding any time soon.

“Suga says there’s a nice bistro that’s famous for its fish and chips near the Sydney Harbour Bridge,” Sawamura offers.

Oikawa hides the surprise of discovering that they’re in Sydney pretty well. He’s never been to Australia; it’d be nice if they can squeeze in some time to explore the area.

“Awesome! He’s joining us yeah?” Nishinoya pipes up.

“Yup, he’ll meet us at the bus,” Sawamura answers, a happy smile on his face which Oikawa understands as a more-than-friends relationship between the two. He hadn’t seen the refreshing-looking setter on the team, and wonders if he was a spectator in the stands. Must be nice for Sawamura to have his partner travel to Australia to watch his game.

Before his thoughts can drift to Iwaizumi, Kuroo directs a question at him, “You and Iwaizumi are coming too right?”

“Of course we are,” Oikawa replies, a little offended. Why wouldn’t they join their own teammates for celebratory dinner?

“Sorry, let me rephrase,” Kuroo says with a lilt to his voice. “You guys are _staying_ with us right?”

“Yeah Oikawa,” Bokuto echoes, puffing out his cheeks. “We waited for such a long time for you guys yesterday! We thought you were lost.”

“I mean, Suga flew all this way to watch Daichi play and they don’t even run off like that,” Kuroo adds impishly.

Sawamura looks away to hide a faint blush. Oikawa’s rather lost at this point. He infers that they had probably strayed from the group yesterday but the comparison with Suga and Daichi rings a couple of alarm bells in his head.

“Aww guys,” Nishinoya says, a big grin on his face. “I’m sure they just want some alone time with each other. We’re like, constant lightbulbs if you think about it.”

Oikawa’s mind has crawled 99% of the way to the conclusion he very much desires. He glances over to the said spiker, who’s at Viet Nam’s sidelines speaking to one of the outside hitters. He had been approached after the game and from their friendly exchange, it appears as if they were acquaintances.

“I’m kidding,” Kuroo jokes. “You can run off with your boyfriend if you want. Just don’t tire him out so much yeah? We need him in tip-top condition.”

And Oikawa reaches his destination.

His teammates think he’s speechless because of the embarrassment but Oikawa’s incoherently loud when he’s embarrassed. This is him being overjoyed with the realization that Iwaizumi Hajime is his partner on and off the court. This world just got infinitely better.

“Oikawa, you should at least inform one of us if you are breaking off from the group with Iwaizumi,” Ushijima tells him with a straight face.

The setter fixes Ushijima with a deadpan expression, too used to reacting this way to his voice alone. But he’s too hung up on the fact that Iwaizumi is his _boyfriend_ (they were husbands in another world but he’s exceptionally enjoying this one) to be irritated with how Ushijima always seems to talk so directly with no ill intent.

“You know what Ushiwaka?” Oikawa starts, feeling gracious. “I’m in a good mood so I’m not going to argue with you today.”

Nobody brings up how Kuroo was doing most of the teasing but it’s Ushijima who suffers Oikawa’s wrath.

Iwaizumi comes up jogging to the team then, sweat still drying on his forehead, “Hey sorry. Was catching up with a friend.”

“It’s amazing,” Kuroo comments. “How one is popular with the fans and another is popular with the opponents."

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes with a good-natured smile and Oikawa darts his eyes at the both of them, sensing some background behind that. He’s the one popular with the fans right? Iwaizumi is more often than not well-liked by boys and Oikawa honestly can’t blame them.

“You’re popular with the referee so you got that going for you,” Sawamura says to Kuroo, expressionless though with the tic that pops in Kuroo’s temple, Oikawa deduces that there must be some inside joke which he wishes he was in on.

“So where’s dinner?” Iwaizumi interjects before they can start making jabs at each other with their passive-aggressive remarks.

“Suga says there’s a nice place near the Sydney Harbour Bridge!” Nishinoya tells him. “We’re gonna meet him at the bus.”

“Great, I’ll meet you guys there too,” Iwaizumi says, picking up his belongings. “Let me head to the washroom real quick.”

“I’ll go with you,” Oikawa immediately offers, hoping to talk to Iwaizumi properly this time, but Kuroo yanks on his bag strap instead.

“Hell no,” he says. “You guys will take ages. You’re staying with us.”

“See you at the bus,” Iwaizumi says, eyes locking with Oikawa’s. He leaves him with a small smile that makes him want to melt.

The coach debriefs them on the way to Sydney Harbour Bridge, praising them for a well-played first game and reminding them that it’s only going to get tougher from here. He notes Oikawa’s slight break in rhythm towards the end of the game but comments that his rapport with Iwaizumi more than made up for it and someone calls their play _aun no kokyu_ , earning them congratulatory head-ruffles. It makes Oikawa’s chest well up with pride. He uses the rest of the bus ride to pester Iwaizumi and dig for information about their lives, until he laces their fingers together and tells him to shut up so he can catch a few winks.

As expected, the bistro recommended by Suga is superb and the athletes scarf down their dinners while recounting highlights of the game and making playful jibes at each other. From their corner table on the second floor of the bistro (because sitting out in the open in Australia’s July weather is way too chilly), they even get a brilliant view of the seaside. In a lull of the conversation when their bellies are full and hearts are roused, Oikawa glances around the table at his teammates, eventually settling his gaze on Iwaizumi beside him, whose eyes are crinkling as he laughs at something Sawamura says. Leaning into his seat, he decides with utmost certainty that this world is near-perfect.

He’s a bit tired by the time they all board the bus back to their hotel but Oikawa doesn’t dare to fall asleep, no matter how inviting Iwaizumi’s shoulder is, fearing that he might travel back to his own world in his slumber. So he keeps himself awake by anticipating their private time in the hotel rooms. They’re not big on PDA at all, likely out of respect for the team, with only casual touches here and there.

Oikawa finds out their rooms are on the same floor, diagonally across from each other. Iwaizumi says a quiet “see you later” to him before disappearing into his room and leaving Oikawa to fumble around for his key card. When he’s showered and changed, not bothering to enjoy the hotel room amenities, Oikawa slips out to ring Iwaizumi’s doorbell in a t-shirt and sweatpants and comfy room slippers.

He waits patiently for the door to click open, revealing the spiker clad only in cotton sweatpants with a towel draped across his shoulders, the ends of his hair still damp.

“That’s fast,” he comments, moving to let Oikawa in.

It’s not like he’s never seen Iwaizumi fresh out of the shower and half-dressed; he’s seen more than that in Seijoh’s shower rooms. But Iwaizumi fresh out of the shower, half-dressed _and_ looking like he could give him a run for his money in this blissful reality does a good job of colouring his cheeks red. All things considered, his reaction is completely understandable.

Oikawa hums in response and goes straight for the bed, slipping his legs into the duvet. He looks at Iwaizumi expectantly, watching him take a long-sleeved shirt from the back of the chair and pulling in over his head. He can’t help the twinge of disappointment when his abs disappear under the shirt.

“Come up here,” he says, patting the pool of sheets beside him.

“You didn’t bring a sweater?” Iwaizumi asks first, noticing how Oikawa is wearing just a light t-shirt, even though it gets pretty cold especially in this weather. He bends over his opened luggage to take out a grey hoodie, throwing it to Oikawa. “Wear this.”

The setter catches it easily and puts it on without a word while Iwaizumi slides into the covers with him.

“No tablet tonight?” he asks, scooting down to make himself comfortable.

Oikawa shrugs, assuming he’s referring to his habit of watching his opponents’ matches before a game. He found out that they’ll be playing against South Korea tomorrow but it’s not like he’ll be there. His experiences don’t usually last that long and he could be back in his own reality before the game for all he knows.

“I thought we could just cuddle,” he suggests and doesn’t wait for Iwaizumi to answer before snuggling into the sheets. He simply wraps his arms around Oikawa’s frame anyway, fishing out his phone so he can browse Instagram as he spoons Oikawa.

The heat from his body and the coolness of the blankets at his feet make Oikawa melt against his partner. He feels like he’s on cloud nine in this world. They don’t talk much as Oikawa browses Iwaizumi’s Instagram with him, not recognizing the faces of the people he follows. He brings his hands up to his mouth, sleeves pulled all the way to cover half his hands, and takes a deep breath. Iwaizumi’s hoodie smells exactly like him.

In all the realities he’s travelled to, he was always talking, trying to find out what his other life was like, how his other self got along with Iwaizumi. This time, he thinks it’s enough and all that’s left to do is to simply enjoy the moment. Even though it was not his world to experience, it heartened him to know that there was at least one Oikawa Tooru in all the parallel universes that got to live like this. He’s happy for him, and apologizes silently for shamelessly basking in the warmth of his boyfriend’s embrace.

Back in his reality, it was anything but.

Iwaizumi moves then, jostling him a bit, and Oikawa feels the warmth leave his back. Turning on shoulder hurriedly, he tugs on the hem of Iwaizumi’s shirt.

“Where are you going?”

“I wanna replenish the tape in my bag,” he answers after a pause, stilling when he sees the crease in Oikawa’s eyebrows. “Don’t wanna forget to bring it tomorrow.”

“Nooo,” he complains, yanking on his shirt. “I’ll remember it for you. Stay here.”

He continues tugging until Iwaizumi relents, getting under the covers again. To prevent him from going anywhere else, Oikawa cuddles up to him with his cheek resting on the juncture of his neck and collarbone, one arm wrapped around his chest and one leg tangled with his. He buries his nose into his neck, smiling when the new position lets him feel the hard lines of Iwaizumi’s body.

“Someone’s clingy,” he remarks, even as he circles an arm across his shoulders to bring him in.

“Mmm,” he murmurs into his skin, breathing in. “Just let me have this.”

Iwaizumi puts away his phone in lieu of a response, finding it odd that Oikawa was behaving like they hadn’t seen each other in a while but chalking it up to one of his moods. They fall into comfortable silence, Oikawa             soothed by the steady beat of Iwaizumi’s heart and Iwaizumi gently carding his fingers through Oikawa’s hair.

The way time crawls by and leaves them without rush, without fear, it makes Oikawa’s chest tighten with a yearning he’s learnt to live with for so many years. It really makes him wonder what it takes to get to here.

_“How do I end up with you?”_

“Huh?” Iwaizumi says and Oikawa realizes he’s said that out loud.

“I mean, how did I manage to get together with someone like you?” he amends quickly.

Iwaizumi arches a brow at him, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “…Is this a new way of saying you want to have sex?”

“Wha—no!” he sputters with a blush. “It’s just—sometimes I look at us and I think ‘how?’ you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” Iwaizumi replies firmly, thinking what could have brought about this line of questioning. Oikawa was definitely in a mood alright, though he can’t quite place what kind. Regardless, the guy needed a little reassurance once in a while, as if Iwaizumi ever wavered as his pillar of strength, but he supposes he can indulge him today (he always does). “There’s no how. We just…happened. I don’t see how we could have ended up anywhere but here.”

Oikawa almost finds it hilariously ironic that in his world, they are miles away from here.

“Although…your accidental confession played a big part in that,” he jokes, reminiscing memories he does not share with this Oikawa.

Ah, how fortunate of him to have his circumstances favour him. What should he do then, when the odds were not stacked in his favour in his universe and he’s too much of a coward to tell his best friend the truth intentionally?

“Do you know…” he begins softly, lifting him up to rest on his elbow. “That there’s a world where I am too afraid to confess to you?”

“What do you mean?” he asks quizzically and Oikawa for once, wants to share his side of the story.

“I’m telling you that there is a universe out there where I don’t have the guts to tell you I like you.”

It’s a weird thing to say but then again, Oikawa’s head was filled with ridiculous things. Iwaizumi’s learnt not to fight it sometimes, especially not when he looks like he has something serious on his mind.

“What’s he afraid of?” he obliges.

“That you won’t love him back,” he says without missing a beat, a reason he’s only ever left unspoken.

“Not possible.”

“Out of the millions of possibilities out there,” Oikawa persists, half-sitting up. He appreciates Iwaizumi’s resolve, but surely the multiverse is far less utopic. “Surely there is one where that happens?”

There’s a thoughtful pause before he answers practically, “Then it’s his loss.”

“So cold Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, smiling even though he had shown no sympathy to his counterpart but because he’d expect nothing less from pragmatic Iwa-chan.

Iwaizumi shrugs.

“I can’t help him if he doesn’t see what he’s missing,” he replies easily, leaning forward to steal a quick kiss, unaware of how it makes Oikawa blush. “But in this world where there are things I can control, I’ll make sure not to have any regrets.”

A valid point, Oikawa thinks, but some things are easier said than done.

* * *

That turns out to be the last time he travels, when Oikawa is suddenly, miraculously struck by lightning a second freaking time on an uneventful Sunday afternoon. It wasn’t even raining.

When he wakes up in the familiar hospital ward, woozy and a little disoriented, Oikawa senses that something is amiss. And it’s not about being physically struck by lightning.

He feels more permanent somehow, like he’s been grounded to here and now. He doesn’t have to worry about his soul vacating his body anymore because he has a feeling it won’t happen again. So perhaps it is about being struck by lightning, in that it had taken away his ability to travel through universes but kind enough to leave the experiences he’s collected with him.

Oikawa sieves through his memories to understand how exactly he ended up here again. The last thing he remembers is waking up at the crack of dawn, the reminiscences of a warm bed and pair of strong arms remnants of a sweet dream. It left him feeling empty and aching, burdened with the knowledge that what he wants is everywhere but here.

Unable to fall back asleep, he had thrown himself out of bed and gotten dressed for a run, thinking that some exercise might help in ridding the negativity. He had not been running for more than five minutes before he heard a lightning crack and found himself back here again, the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows.

Oikawa pushes himself off the bed to sit up against the pillows. He sighs heavily, suddenly exhausted. It wasn’t that travelling through universes was strenuous, it was the aftermath that left him weary. Back here, he had to struggle to be true to himself, wanting on one hand to tell Iwaizumi the truth but on the other, too afraid of the damages it could inflict. It was a never-ending struggle, and he was growing immensely tired of it.

In a timely fashion, someone appears at the doorway and Oikawa looks up to see that it’s Iwaizumi, rooted to the ground in stunned silence with an expression of alarm that he, for some reason, finds endearing. Of course it would be Iwaizumi and of course he looks like he’s about to burst a vein.

“Hi Iwa-chan,” he greets, voice a bit hoarse. Seeing him now, unwaveringly there whenever he needs him, makes Oikawa think that his other selves can have female-Iwaizumi, space ranger-Iwaizumi, warrior-Iwaizumi and what-not, but this Iwaizumi is the one he wants, the one he can only hope to have.

“Don’t fucking ‘hi’ me!” he actually shouts, striding over to Oikawa, who’s grown too used to his aggressive form of showing concern to be fazed. “Do you have any idea how worried I was?!”

He didn’t, but he supposes getting hospitalised twice for such a reason is rather distressing.

“I’m sorry.”

“Who even gets struck by lightning twice?!” Iwaizumi exclaims, all the worry, anxiety and fear making themselves known in his furrowed brows and careless rant. “What are you, some beacon for bad weather?! There wasn’t _even_ bad weather, it’s like someone up there saw you and said ‘fuck you in particular’. I rushed here in ten minutes and didn’t even have time to get dressed! And you’re lucky your insides didn’t get fried, the doctor said you were _this_ close to being in a really bad place.”

He’s breathing heavily by the time he finishes, looking at Oikawa with an expression he cannot quite read. Oikawa appreciates the sentiment and notices that Iwaizumi is indeed still his in sleeping clothes, which consists of a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, though he did throw a sweater over. He can only imagine how he rushed out of his house, probably tripping over his feet once or twice, just to make sure he’s going to be okay.

“You got here in ten minutes?”

Iwaizumi stares at him in disbelief.

“That’s…that’s what you got? From all that? You’re impressed I got here in ten minutes?” he asks incredulously, unsure if the lightning strike messed with his head on top of marking him with a Lichtenberg figure this time. Iwaizumi exhales sharply and seems to resign to the fact that fate has left him with the one and only Oikawa Tooru, who could send him into a frenzy one second and pretend like everything’s okay in the next. “This is not good for my heart.”

 _“You’re not good for my heart,”_ Oikawa retorts in his mind. _“This whole thing about wanting you but being so fucking scared to tell you is not good for my heart.”_

This push and pull is something he should have gotten used to, but it has reached a point where it has become tiring. He’s reminded of what the last Iwaizumi said, about not having regrets over the things you can control. Between keeping it to himself and living with a life of “what-ifs”, and telling him the truth although he could be setting himself up for rejection, he’d rather choose the latter. At least he can start breathing easy, and he can learn to get over it.

His other selves have made a choice; some of them have gotten what they want, some of them did not and some of them are on their way there. He’s sure they have their fair share of challenges but at least they made their choice.

So how could he let this be any different for a reason such as fear?

“I’m in love with you.”

It comes out in a quiet exhale, but to say that one small sentence out loud is nothing short of liberating.

Iwaizumi is staring at him, his expression a perfect mix of shock and bewilderment and his mouth slightly opened. On quite the opposite end, Oikawa feels more at ease than he’s ever been.

“…What?” Iwaizumi whispers, still unable to wrap his mind around the suddenness of it and the fact that Oikawa has said what he thought he said.

Oikawa is unashamed to say it again.

“I’m in love with you,” he repeats, clearer this time.

He fights back a smile when Iwaizumi still has not recovered from the initial astonishment. Across a thousand lifetimes and millions of stars, Oikawa Tooru is in love with Iwaizumi Hajime. So is it so hard to believe when in every world he’s travelled to, it’s the one thing that doesn’t change?

“You don’t have to say anything back,” Oikawa adds to make the situation less awkward, shifting his legs under the thin blankets. He makes sure to hold Iwaizumi’s gaze when he says, “I just wanted to let you know.”

It’s bittersweet, to finally do what he’s always wanted to, but knowing that what comes after is nothing he can ever be prepared for.

Iwaizumi breathes in deep to calm the thudding in his chest and in all seriousness, asks, “Oikawa, are you joking?”

There are a lot of things that he would joke about – Iwa-chan’s violent tendencies, his unhealthy co-dependency on Iwa-chan, his self-esteem, but this – this doesn’t come close.

Oikawa shakes his head with a wry smile.

“Not about this,” he says softly. He hears Iwaizumi release a sharp breath and braces himself for rejection. This is it, he thinks, the end to a beginning that has no place in this world. It’s the worst kind of disappointment and splits his heart into two; the only comfort it provides is that he would never regret being true to himself.

While he’s busy preparing himself for heartbreak, Iwaizumi shuts his eyes to gather his wits, which for the longest three seconds of his life had been in complete disarray at the sound of Oikawa’s confession. There’s still a plethora of questions running through his mind – like since when did his best friend feel that way about him, why didn’t he tell him sooner, had he read his not-so-casual touches and ambiguous words correctly all this time – but all those seem insignificant compared to what he wants to convey.

Opening his eyes to meet Oikawa’s forlorn gaze, Iwaizumi has never felt surer in his life to say, “Good.”

There’s nothing else that can encapsulate the sheer satisfaction of the moment as simply as that. Or perhaps there is, but Iwaizumi is too preoccupied with more pressing matters to be eloquent.

Oikawa is an open book to him, one he knew by heart and could read between the lines. But when it came to where the line between friends ended and lovers began, there was always an empty page, or a page where the words were dancing across the space, leaving him bewildered and uncertain. He had been waiting for this and frankly, it had been a long time coming.

“Wha— _‘good’_?” Oikawa repeats dumbly, staring up at Iwaizumi with eyes as wide as saucers. Hearing the word hits him like a truck and it feels as if they’re struggling to find each other on the same page. But the pieces are slowly falling into place and it’s weird that they were so unsynchronised in the first place.

“Yeah, good,” Iwaizumi affirms, shifting on his feet. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, averting his gaze when he adds, “Because—you’re not the only one who’s in love with their best friend. As much as you drive me crazy, you—you’re Oikawa Tooru. And I don’t know, I guess I’ll always be that idiot who falls in love with Oikawa Tooru.”

Oikawa’s stomach flips. He never thought he’d hear Iwaizumi say the words “love” and “Oikawa Tooru” in the same sentence but apparently, life sends you curveballs in the form of temporary time-travelling abilities and requited feelings. His mind is still trying to process the situation but it can’t get past the fact that Iwaizumi Hajime has told him that he’s _in love with him_.

“You…you like me too?” Oikawa stutters, beginning to doubt that he’s in his own universe. He could have woken up in another Oikawa’s world and this could all be a ploy to torment him, although the feeling in his gut tells him that the best thing in his existence could happen in _this_ life. He doesn’t realize he’s reaching up towards Iwaizumi, fingers clutching the hospital sheets as he asks with eagerness, “I’m not dreaming right? This is reality? _My_ reality?”

“What are you on about?” Iwaizumi asks, lips quirking in amusement. He finds it more staggering that Oikawa has trouble believing this when he himself feels that it’s an unavoidable fact of their relationship. All roads lead to Rome and for him, falling in love with Oikawa Tooru was the one thing all his choices will always lead him to.

The setter, refusing to leave any room for doubt that this is _his_ world, demands, “Iwa-chan, pinch me!”

When Oikawa holds out his arm bravely, Iwaizumi doesn’t hesitate to twist the flesh between his fingers, making sure it hurts because this is as real as it can get.

“Ow!!” he yells, nursing the abused spot with a scandalized expression, although he was the one who told him to pinch him.

“You’re so weird,” Iwaizumi says. “This is real.”

Oikawa stills, the pain in his arm ebbing as the realization sinks in, really sinks in.

“Oh my god…it’s real…you like me back,” he says breathlessly and looks straight at Iwaizumi earnestly. “Is that why you turned down all the girls? Even though we know there were only two.”

Iwaizumi elects to ignore the last part and instead answers truthfully, “Yeah. And why do you think I bother about you so much and tolerate your shitty personality? What, you think I’d still be here after all this time if I didn’t like you?”

The declaration shoots an arrow right through Oikawa’s heart. He knows one can fall in love with the same person many times, but can they fall in love with that person many times over in the same world? Because it seems to be happening to him, and he doesn’t know how he can take it.

In retrospect, it actually explains a lot. Iwaizumi had never been interested in the opposite sex much and he had rejected the only two girls who confessed to him, for a reason Oikawa could not figure out but was selfishly glad for. Iwaizumi also did care a whole lot about Oikawa, albeit in his own aggressive way, and he did (still does) tolerate him on godly levels. Oikawa supposes he had been blinded by his insecurities to see that Iwaizumi did that not out of platonic obligation, but something stronger, something more timeless.

But now that the veil is lifted, it’s almost comical that they were in-sync with each other on so many accounts, just not the one that matters the most.

Oikawa bursts out laughing, feeling foolish over all that time wasted.

“How did we end up being so dumb?” he asks in between laughs, eyes crinkling as Iwaizumi watches him with fondness.

“I guess we were both just scared of something that wasn’t even there,” he replies softly, fingers twitching with the urge to simply card them through his hair.

Quiet laughter subsides in the light bounce of Oikawa’s shoulders and he licks his lips, looking at Iwaizumi intently.

“What were you afraid of?”

“That you wouldn’t like me back,” he answers under his breath.

“Not possible,” Oikawa whispers with a stab of déjà vu.

Iwaizumi gives him a slight smirk. “I know that now.”

What he doesn’t know though, is that it’s true for every other world, as Oikawa’s experiences are a testament of. If only Iwaizumi knew that no matter the role he assumed—be it a rival, a girl, a husband, a warrior—they existed and loved in different times and spaces. But Oikawa will leave recounting his adventures in the multiverse for another time.

For now, hearing this from his childhood friend in a nondescript hospital is feeling complete.

“Iwa-chan…I feel like I’m going to die of happiness,” Oikawa confesses with a silly smile, heart so full he feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest.

“Well don’t, stupid,” Iwaizumi chides with no bite. He steps closer to Oikawa and takes his hand in his, trying not to mind the way his skin flares and heart slams against his ribcage as he leans down. “We’ve only just started.”

He closes his mouth over Oikawa’s as Oikawa cranes his neck to meet him halfway. He’s kissed Iwaizumi before of course, but this is different; this is his. It’s a simple press of lips against lips, but it still makes the blood rush to his head and his bones shudder in anticipation. Iwaizumi kisses him tentatively, palms getting clammy from the nervousness. It’s his first kiss with Oikawa after all, one he’d been wishing into existence.

They part after a while and Oikawa opens his eyes to witness Iwaizumi’s reddened cheeks. He teases him with a laugh, at which Iwaizumi can’t find it in himself to retort, too overwhelmed with the fact that this marked a new beginning with someone he’d only dared to call a best friend up until now.

It’s incredible and scary and unpredictable, but this was Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime, who went through childhood and adolescence and came out not without bruises but still full of pride and conviction, who fought alien races and mythical creatures and faced the perils of ancient Japan, who stayed with each other on and off the court, two ends of the same red string.

So yeah, it’s incredible and scary and unpredictable, but they’ll always find their way.

* * *

Oikawa gets discharged when the doctor finds nothing wrong with him, except the Lichtenberg figure that blooms across his back. Iwaizumi thought he was unexpectedly calm about it, given that it was technically a scar and Oikawa was one to care excessively about his appearance. He found it cool though (notwithstanding the heart attack it almost gave him), with the bronze fractals bifurcating across the fair skin of his back.

The setter doesn’t tell him (yet) that it’s because he thinks the scar resembles different choices branching out into different realities. It’s an apt memento of his bizarre experience, which he adamantly believes some deity had mistakenly bestowed upon him and had to retrieve it after realizing his mistake.

They take things slow, choosing to let their friends figure out they’re dating, though it doesn’t take them long with the way Oikawa acts around Iwaizumi. He’s still as touchy and no less clingy, but something about the way he behaves is more telling. Naturally, it’s Hanamaki and Matsukawa who catches on first, the former calling them out with a blunt “Are you finally dating?” one day in the clubroom.

The rest of the team and their friends figure it out in the weeks after and Oikawa starts receiving confessions from boys as well. Most of them know that he’s already dating Iwaizumi, but they didn’t want to graduate high school without at least making their affections known. Somewhat like him he supposes, so Oikawa cannot blame them. It’s a flattering experience in any case, and he teases Iwaizumi with it, who tells him with a straight face that he cannot believe there are guys foolish enough to fall for him too.

It introduces an unexplored aspect into their relationship, one that comes in the form of bold actions and bolder intentions. They kiss often, both liking the feel of the other’s lips, whether they were sharing feather light kisses or biting at each other in a bid for more. They touch freely, conveying previously repressed emotions with gentle caresses, affectionate hits and inviting strokes. Nonetheless, they don’t engage in much PDA, preferring to leave the physical intimacy behind closed doors, where there is no room for pretence and boundaries are tested and crossed.

The first time they made love was slow and clumsy and involved more pain than pleasure. But tenderness and patience came a long way when they were learning about each other and figuring out what works best. And after that, it came naturally to them, like it did when they became friends, a setter to his ace, an _a_ to an _un_ , a lover to his other half.

But their relationship was not without its trials. Obstinacy, when doubled in doses, is a recipe for heated arguments that more often than not lead to remorse. It’s fortunate then, that one of them always makes sure that their fights and quarrels are followed with whispered apologies or compromises. It takes a lot of effort sometimes, to push away the anger or swallow your pride, but good things don’t always come easy and Oikawa and Iwaizumi are seasoned when it comes to fighting for things they want.

Things hardly ever feel perfect (life isn’t a bed of roses), but they feel right.

* * *

The soft rustling of sheets signal the start of Oikawa’s day as he shifts under cosy blankets. After getting a few, long stretches out, he pushes himself up to idle on the bed, waiting for his brain to emerge from sleep mode.

His oversized shirt hangs precariously over one of his shoulders and his hair is tousled in a way that makes him look frustratingly attractive. Oikawa yawns loudly and scratches his belly as he glances at the clock, which reads 9:27am. That’s not too bad.

He notices belatedly that he had woken up without the usual warmth at his side or behind his back and realizes after a few sleepy blinks that the space on the other side of the bed is empty.

Absentmindedly, Oikawa stretches his back and crawls out of bed, padding his way towards the kitchen, where he knows he will find Iwaizumi. True enough, his dark-haired roommate is standing over the counter, back towards Oikawa.

Between the two of them, Iwaizumi is the one who’s more willing to wake up to make breakfast. Oikawa is grateful for that, because he gets to eat Iwaizumi’s food before they get to their first class. Otherwise, his breakfast would mainly consist of onigiris and toasted bread, which his coach and manager would undoubtedly frown at. They both have afternoon classes today, Iwaizumi’s engineering class starting slightly earlier than Oikawa’s astronomy elective, so they didn’t have to rush.

A lazy smile settles on his features, still relaxed from a restful sleep and safe from the day’s stresses. He comes up behind Iwaizumi and wraps his arms around his middle, burrowing his nose into the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck like he’s been doing ever since they moved in together. The action does not catch Iwaizumi by surprise at all, fully aware that Oikawa was approaching and expecting the same affectionate act he receives every time they have mornings like this to themselves.

“Hey,” Oikawa greets, voiced muffled in Iwaizumi’s neck.

“Hey yourself,” Iwaizumi says with a faint smile. Oikawa is especially cuddly in the mornings, not that he would complain.

Oikawa pops his head out to watch what Iwaizumi was preparing, resting his chin on his shoulder. (Iwaizumi never quite got those inches over Oikawa, so the latter has to bend a little.) The earlier riser spreads butter over two pieces of bread, some ham and a slice of cheese prepared at the side.

“Sandwich?”

“We ran out of eggs,” Iwaizumi explains, understanding the curious tone in his voice. Oikawa makes a thoughtful hum in the back of his throat.

He pays little mind to what Iwaizumi is doing, instead sidling up to him and hugs him more securely around his waist. Oikawa presses into his back, feet taking tiny steps to close whatever miniscule distance is between them. He releases a pleased sound as he feels his chest meet with Iwaizumi’s back, cloth to cloth and sparking recollections of the night before.

The provocative action doesn’t escape Iwaizumi’s notice. It’s hard to let it, when he can practically feel Oikawa’s body lining up against his, the thinness of his boxer briefs under an equally thin shirt doing little to dull the feeling of his interest pressing into his behind.

“So…” Oikawa purrs, mouth hovering over the shell of Iwaizumi’s ear, “Last night was good right?”

Iwaizumi immediately heats up as memories of the previous night floods his mind. Breakfast neglected, he is reminded of how letting go of your inhibitions could bring you such ecstasy. Sometimes, going along with Oikawa’s ideas was not always a bad thing. Like last night for instance, when he had come home to Oikawa who had already prepped himself, for some reason overwhelmed with a bout of neediness that he had to substitute the gadget inside his muscles for the real thing.

It had surprised Iwaizumi no doubt, to find Oikawa so impatient and wanting. But after a long day of classes and labs, the chance to unwind was more than welcomed. Iwaizumi went with the flow. When Oikawa suggested that they suck each other off at the same time, he went down on him with more enthusiasm than he expected, swallowing the sounds of pleasure around Oikawa as he was given the same treatment.

When Oikawa asked to be bound (lightly, because this was new to them), he had tied his wrists with a tie and held them above his head. He filled him up till they were both gasping and shuddering against each other, minds clouded with post-coital haze.

Remembering this now is making things kinda hard for him (pun intended).

Iwaizumi’s resultant speechlessness is enough for Oikawa to go on, “We should try that again sometime.”

He smirks devilishly when Iwaizumi sucks in a breath, escalating the situation by sliding his hands under Iwaizumi’s shirt, palms tickling a tantalizing trail up his torso. Iwaizumi abandons his breakfast to hold Oikawa’s wrists in place, lest one thing leads to another and he finds himself lifting Oikawa on top of this small counter top for part two of last night’s escapade. (Though it’s not too shabby an idea; they do have some time.)

“Are you blushing?” Oikawa trills, stepping backwards to twist Iwaizumi around so that he can get a proper look at his pink cheeks. He _is_ blushing and Oikawa finds it absolutely adorable. It amuses him to tease, “You were so into it last night, don’t get shy on me now!”

“I’m not shy!” Iwaizumi sputters. The mere thought of Oikawa bound and begging is rather stimulating. And the sight of him clad in his oversized shirt that shows off his legs, with his hair still mussed from sleep, only served to fuel his interest. “You can’t expect me not to—when you—never mind.”

He gives up trying to explain himself upon realizing that Oikawa is holding back a grin that tells him he’s doing this on purpose just to get a rise out of him. It’s his own brand of entertainment that Iwaizumi refuses to fall for this time.

He pins him with an unimpressed stare, rolling his eyes when the setter can’t help but release a mirthful laugh. A flustered Iwaizumi will never not be endearing to him.

Allowing him the pleasure of teasing him without any consequences just this once, Iwaizumi returns to his sandwich, until Oikawa stops laughing to call out his name.

“Iwa-chan.”

“What?”

“The bread’s expired,” he states plainly, though the crinkle in his eyes give away how much he’s enjoying this.

“No it isn’t,” Iwaizumi retorts, but checks the expiration date on the packaging anyway. His subsequent “Damn it,” is confirmation enough. What a waste of butter.

Oikawa chuckles, having already noticed it from the onset but keeping mum to see if Iwaizumi will realize it just because.

“My poor Hajime,” he lilts with a dash of melodrama, going in to lace his fingers behind Iwaizumi’s neck when he sees the look of slight disappointment at having to forgo his breakfast. “What would you do without me?”

Iwaizumi shrugs, placing his hands on Oikawa’s hips.

“Eat expired bread I guess.”

“You wouldn’t last a day without me,” Oikawa asserts, smug-faced and all.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t,” Iwaizumi agrees nonchalantly. Usually, he wouldn’t indulge Oikawa too much, knowing how it could let it go to his head, but sometimes he plays along with unexpected sincerity and uninhibited truthfulness that sends Oikawa reeling. After all, no truer words have been spoken, so why not just admit it?

He brushes Oikawa’s fringe to the side, leans in and plants a soft kiss on the tip of his nose, before pulling back with affectionate eyes and a heart chock-full of love for the person before him.

Oikawa blushes, finding it unfair that Iwaizumi still manages to make his heart flutter like it did on the day he realized he was in love with his best friend.

He has not forgotten about his time-travelling episode in his senior year of high school. It still makes him reminisce those remarkable events in awe, with the ever-present twinge of envy of his other selves being able to live in such interesting realities while he’s here in this century on this Earth where kids flexed and a cheeto was President. In spite of that, he didn’t want their lives, no matter how exciting or blissful. They could have their exciting and blissful moments, but he had his own. And this, with Iwaizumi looking at him like he was his reason for being, is one of them.

“This is nice,” Oikawa says ambiguously, the smile on his lips reaching his eyes.

“This?” Iwaizumi asks, although he has a pretty good idea what he was referring to.

Oikawa ducks his head and repeats, “This.”

Iwaizumi smiles and tugs Oikawa closer to him by the hips to say, “As nice as the other worlds you’ve been to?”

Oikawa grins, the answer already shared knowledge between the two of them.

“Better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, it’s done. I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a kudo, comment and let me know which universe you liked! (I especially had fun with the pleasure quarter one. There’s just something about ancient Japan that’s so fascinating to write about. I also liked writing fem!Iwa and the Star Trek AU.) I have so many ideas about iwaoi and i just wish i have time to write them down.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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